


Their Phoenix

by Lomonaaeren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonding, Denial, M/M, Politics, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 247,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from Chapter 32 of DH. Voldemort has learned who the true master of the Elder Wand is, and he plans to kill Draco along with Snape. Harry is desperate to save them, because Dumbledore would have wanted him to. But with wild magic, Horcruxes, and Dark Marks all involved, Harry's condemned all three of them to an accidental bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is One of Those Bonding Fics. It’s also One of Those Threesome Fics, and also One of Those Fics With Harry-in-Denial. If that sounds like what you’re looking for, then come right in.

  
“I have always known, you see.”  
  
Harry shuddered as the hissing voice washed over him. His scar throbbed with rising pain and Voldemort’s rising fury. Harry clapped a hand to it, doing his best to stay silent and keep his eye pressed to the gap between the crate and the wall.  
  
Voldemort paced back and forth in the Shrieking Shack, his eyes on the Elder Wand, which he held out in front of him. To the right of Voldemort knelt Snape, who was very still, his gaze sometimes on Voldemort and sometimes on Nagini, coiling behind him in her enchanted sphere. And not far from Snape was Malfoy, crouched in glittering silver chains that throbbed with purple wisps of light. Dark magic, Harry knew. He didn’t know how Voldemort had found Malfoy in the middle of the battle and brought him here, but quite obviously he had.  
  
And quite obviously, Malfoy was terrified.  
  
Harry did his best to move his attention from the other boy to Voldemort. He’d done all he could to save Malfoy by sparing his life from the Fiendfyre. Now he had to figure out what Voldemort was talking about, what he’d been hinting about for the last ten minutes, and somehow get to Nagini and destroy the Horcrux in her.  
  
“It took me some time to _realize_ , but I have always _known_.” Voldemort spun around abruptly and stared down at Snape. Harry’s lip curled. This was the man whose threat had dominated so much of his life. How was Harry supposed to look at him except with hatred and exasperation? “The knowledge lay waiting in my mind, until I could encompass it with my brilliance. And who shall say that I am not brilliant?”  
  
“Not I, my Lord,” Snape murmured, bowing his head towards the floor. Harry bared his teeth. He hated Snape almost as much he hated Voldemort. It would serve the git right if he had to spend the rest of his life crushing his nose on dirt and stone and whatever other ground Voldemort had a fancy to stand on.  
  
 _Of course, that’ll only happen if I can’t kill him. And I have no intention of failing._  
  
“I wondered why the Elder Wand would not serve me.” Voldemort twitched his head, and Nagini, reacting to the signal, rose, swaying, and hissed. The cage containing her floated towards Voldemort, until it hovered midway between Snape and Malfoy. Malfoy swallowed, or tried, and looked as if he would faint. “Then I remembered. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its master.”  
  
Snape tensed. Harry wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been watching closely. It was barely a shiver in the black cloth as his shoulders moved closer together. The man was a bloody cool bastard, Harry had to give him that.  
  
“But in this case,” Voldemort went on, his voice caressing, “ordinary wandlore is of more use than legends. A wand may also transfer its loyalty to the wizard who _conquered_ its last master. And that,” he said, turning his head, Nagini’s head following his like a well-trained dog’s, “would be Draco Malfoy, who disarmed Dumbledore.”  
  
 _What_? Harry thought in a daze, but he had Malfoy’s own hawthorn wand for proof that what Voldemort was saying could be true. Malfoy simply blinked and stared. His fear had put him into a kind of trance, Harry thought. There was no sign that he thought what Voldemort was saying was true.  
  
“One who killed,” Voldemort whispered, and smiled. His hand didn’t stop stroking the Elder Wand, as if it were a beloved pet of some kind. Harry would have felt easier about things if he’d been touching Nagini that way. “One who conquered. And two who must die, so that I can use the Elder Wand the way I was destined to use it.”  
  
Harry froze. He _understood_ Voldemort’s words, all right, and after all the killing the snake-faced bastard had done, the thought of more didn’t surprise him, but it was horrifying to think that two people he was looking at right this second might be the next victims.  
  
Snape shifted and tensed again, but didn’t reach for his wand. He probably knew he couldn’t draw it before Voldemort noticed him, Harry thought. And he didn’t blame Snape for not wanting to die in excruciating pain.  
  
If he had to die. Harry didn’t think Dumbledore would have wanted that, even if Snape had killed him. Snape should live and face trial, and have some sort of grand second chance. That was what Dumbledore would think.  
  
 _You have to save him._   
  
Never mind that he couldn’t kill Voldemort yet, with one Horcrux still alive and right next to him, and that he was alone since Hermione thought it would be a good idea to send him here in the Cloak by himself while she went back to secure the passage into the Whomping Willow, Harry thought, half-hysterically. He would just have to save Snape.  
  
 _No, both of them._  
  
Harry gave a shallow nod. He was fighting not to simply yell or cry or vomit. Yes, Dumbledore would have wanted him to save Malfoy, too. He had thought it important that Malfoy not have the chance to kill him. He didn’t want Malfoy to split his soul.  
  
But souls would mean nothing if Harry couldn’t stop Voldemort from killing Snape’s and Malfoy’s bodies.  
  
 _As if I know how!_  
  
And then Voldemort turned to Nagini, and smiled. “Kill,” he said.   
  
The snake floated towards Snape, mouth gaping wide, and Malfoy shrieked and struggled in his chains, and Snape bowed his head as if he thought he didn’t have any choice but to accept it.  
  
And something inside Harry burst.  
  
He thought he might have stood up. He didn’t know. He had a wand in his hand, but he didn’t know if it was the hawthorn one, or the broken holly one, or a wand of pure fire. Whirling winds tore through him, and waters drowned him. Wings extended from his back and melted into falling leaves. The earth heaved and shone and sang.   
  
The force of his desire drove him. He wanted—he had to save them. Snape and Malfoy. Maybe they were almost worthless, but they didn’t deserve to die. It was too easy. They had to stand trial. It was too hard. Harry had seen too many people perish at the hands of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and Fred was an aching wound in him, and maybe he hadn’t been able to save Fred, but he would bloody well save _them_.  
  
He heard Voldemort shriek. Nagini hissing, high and agitated. The shouts of both Snape and Malfoy, which cut off in mid-cry, and left Harry to wonder if they had burned.  
  
 _He_ was burning.  
  
Accidental magic, it was accidental magic, like he’d used when he blew up Aunt Marge, and it traveled through him burning and buzzing and vibrating, and it hit something dark in his forehead, behind the scar, and danced confusedly with it for a few minutes before speeding past, now _armed_ with the dark, in a way that Harry couldn’t understand but quite clearly felt.  
  
It found two other points of the dark, and screamed in delight. It absorbed them. Harry felt two people tossed past him on the curling waves of magic, and he grabbed them, trying to protect them and hold them back. He had the feeling that that had been important, once upon a few hundred generations ago.  
  
And then the combined darkness and light found another point of darkness. This one was hostile, and this one it devoured.   
  
And when it reached the greatest darkness of all, the cold void that contained a tattered soul, it shrieked contemptuously and stooped like a phoenix. He received a clear vision of a scarlet bird, highlighted and touched all over with gold, beating its wings fiercely and screaming and spreading its tail. A single golden feather detached from the tail and floated to the floor.  
  
What spread from that was fire, and ashes.  
  
*  
  
Harry returned slowly to consciousness. It seemed to be something he had to claw to obtain. First it was above him, like the surface of water, and then it was below him, and above all there was a sort of wet _snuffling_ sound in his ears, which was unpleasant and which he wished would go away. He muttered and tried to curl himself up.  
  
That was counterproductive.  
  
“I think he’s awake,” Hermione’s anxious voice said, and then a wand tapped him on the side of the head and sent a jolt of sizzling energy through his body.  
  
Harry jerked upright with a yelp. He reached out automatically, searching for his glasses, and then he realized that he was sitting on a bed in the hospital wing, looking at two pale faces, instead of in his bed in Gryffindor Tower.  
  
And then he remembered Voldemort, and Nagini, and Snape, and Malfoy. Frantically, he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed.   
  
“Voldemort…” he croaked. He was surprised to hear that his voice sounded hoarse, as if he’d been swallowing cinders.  
  
“He’s gone, Harry.” Hermione laid a hand over his heart and eased him back into the bed. Harry noticed that she glanced at his hands, as if there was some injury there, but her eyes returned to his face immediately, and he was too preoccupied with what she was saying to really care about his hands. They weren’t hurting, anyway. “The burst of accidental magic in the Shrieking Shack destroyed Nagini, and then it destroyed him.”  
  
Harry stared up at her, not even caring that she was making him lie flat and treating him like a baby at the moment. “We won?” he whispered through dry lips. “We really won?”  
  
Hermione nodded, a worried smile on her face. “I think,” she said, “I _think_ that you wanted to save Malfoy and Snape so much that the magic forced itself to make things happen the way you wanted. So it destroyed Nagini, and it reached into Voldemort and destroyed him.” She hesitated.  
  
She hesitated too long, because Harry had time to stop thinking about a world without Voldemort—though he knew more days would be required to really get over his shock—and glared at her. “What else happened?” he asked. “Did someone else die?” He would have asked about Ron, but he just remembered seeing Ron as the other person standing beside his bed.  
  
“No, mate,” Ron said, and stepped forwards to put a calming hand on his shoulder. Harry forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath. He must look ruddy awful if _Ron_ was trying to calm him down. “But the magic burst out of you, and it did—it did something with Snape and Malfoy’s Dark Marks.” He frowned and glanced at Hermione. “Hermione doesn’t know everything about the magical theory yet, but it transformed their marks. And…” He led Harry’s gaze to the blankets.  
  
Harry looked down.  
  
And then he kept looking down, staring in fact, because he couldn’t get over the marks on his arms.  
  
They glowed beneath the surface of his skin, as much a part of it as birthmarks, though Harry knew he would have remembered if he’d ever had birthmarks like these. Tangled masses of golden and red feathers, glistening the way that Fawkes when he carried Harry and Ron and Lockhart and Ginny out of the Chamber of Secrets, with here and there a brilliant flash of claw or eye or beak from among them. Harry tilted his head, squinting. He couldn’t make them resolve into whole birds, though. They were more like a mosaic of phoenix parts.  
  
“What happened?” he asked, quietly but with enough force that Hermione hurried to his side and patted his other shoulder, the one Ron wasn’t touching, clumsily.  
  
“This is just a theory,” she babbled, “but it’s my theory. You were confronting death in that moment, Harry. And you wanted life so much. You wanted them to live so much. I know that because, when we went to pick you up and bring you out of the tunnel, you were mumbling over and over again how Snape and Malfoy had to live. And there was this smell of burning around you, and there were the marks on your arms. Snape and Malfoy’s Dark Marks have each become a phoenix, by the way,” she added, her voice dipping briefly into awe and wonder instead of the fear she’d been showing so far. Harry gave her a sharp look, and she went back to babbling. “Voldemort was stretched out on the floor with this look of—of _surprise_ on his face, and his wand was beside him, half-burned and useless. Nagini was burned, too, so charred we weren’t sure what her body was at first. I think the desire for life in you was so strong, and the Dark magic Voldemort was using was so impressive, that your accidental magic rose up and responded the only way it could fulfill your wishes, by becoming the ultimate force for life and light. And, and Harry.” She looked up at his face for the first time since she’d started her tirade. Her voice softened again, and she lifted her hand to brush her fingers across his forehead. “Your scar is gone.”  
  
Harry blinked. Freedom from Voldemort was something he’d hoped for, dreamed about, desired so fiercely he was sure that it would keep eluding him just to spite him. Freedom from his scar was completely unexpected, and so it was the first thing that caused a smile to break out over his face.  
  
“I—” he said, and shook his head. The pessimistic part of him wanted to say that there was another Horcrux somewhere, but he thought of the five they’d destroyed, and Nagini being the only one left. “He’s really dead, then?” he asked anyway, and looped his arms around his knees, and beamed into Hermione’s face. She smiled back. Next to her, Ron was beginning, slowly, to grin.  
  
“Yeah,” Ron said. “Old Snake-Face isn’t ever coming back.”  
  
“Oh, _Harry_ ,” Hermione said then, and flung her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, whilst Ron growled in mock-jealousy and hit Harry on the shoulder.  
  
Harry laughed and hugged her back, then reached out an arm for Ron, who came willingly. They stood there, leaning on one another and laughing until they felt weak—and until a strange sensation came into Harry’s head.  
  
It was like yellow-green flame, and it was sour, and it burned just off to the left side of his vision. Harry flinched back. Ron stopped laughing and peered at him in worry. Hermione blinked.   
  
“Harry, what’s wrong?” she demanded.  
  
“This must be some kind of—side-effect,” Harry said, and touched his forehead where the scar used to be. The yellow-green flame had almost disappeared, but the sense of sourness remained. He shook his head. “I don’t understand it, but it’s like I’m seeing something happening somewhere else.”  
  
“Maybe the magic made you into a Seer,” Ron said.  
  
“Or maybe it didn’t,” drawled a voice off to the side.  
  
Harry snapped his head around, blinking. The yellow-green sensation had grown stronger when that voice spoke. It was Malfoy’s voice, and he was sitting up in the hospital bed where he’d been lying, his legs sprawling uncomfortably across the sheets. His hand rested on his left forearm, where the Dark Mark had been and where the phoenix was now. His gaze, unwavering, was fixed on Harry.  
  
“Malfoy,” Harry said, wondering what you said to someone whose life you’d saved with accidental magic. “Um. Hi.”  
  
“ _Hi_ ,” Malfoy said, and his voice was softer and his eyes intent with something that didn’t match his words, which were sarcastic. “Such simple language he uses to begin a life that’s going to be completely different from this day out. Don’t you agree, Severus?” he added, turning his head, and Harry saw that Snape was slowly sitting up in the next bed.  
  
Harry flinched. A new sensation had appeared off to the right side of his head, a purple-black aching like a bruise. He watched as Snape, his face devoid of all expression, laid a hand over the phoenix mark, too.  
  
“Um,” Harry said. What did you say to the man who had killed Dumbledore? For that matter, why wasn’t he in Azkaban? “I didn’t mean to mark you,” he began.  
  
“I suppose it will not gratify you to know,” Snape said, in a low, passionless voice, “that Albus Dumbledore asked me to kill him.” The purple-black ache grew worse, and Harry tried not to put a hand to his head. He didn’t want to look weak in front of his enemies, which both Snape and Malfoy still were. “He was dying already, from the curse he had taken over the summer in trying to destroy the Horcrux. It was my Patronus which led you to the locket and the Sword of Gryffindor in the Forest of Dean.” He reached for his wand, and Harry tensed, but all that happened was a familiar silver doe galloping through the room. “I have made my confession, with the aid of Pensieves and Veritaserum, to Madam Pomfrey already. I have always been a spy and a double agent. I expect you to remember that.” He lay back on the bed, as if his head ached, too, but arranged himself so that he could keep his gaze fixed on Harry’s face.  
  
Harry turned incredulously to Hermione, but she nodded at him. “It’s true,” she said. “I watched the Pensieve memories with Madam Pomfrey.”  
  
Harry shook his head a little. He’d gone almost a year thinking Snape was a murderer and he had to repay him for what he’d done to Dumbledore. It was shocking to be told otherwise.  
  
Then he decided he didn’t care, not when Voldemort was gone and he could get on with his own life. Let the Aurors or the new Minister for Magic, whoever they would be, deal with Snape and decide if he should be in Azkaban or not. Harry wasn’t going to be expected to deal with that, because he was just an ordinary person now, not even marked by the scar on his forehead anymore.  
  
A burst of happiness ran through him, and he nodded at Snape. “All right then, Professor. I reckon we can go our separate ways.”  
  
The purple-black glow intensified. The yellow-green changed color, to pure gold, and Snape murmured, “Alas, Potter, if it were that simple.”  
  
Harry frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t it be? What are you talking about?”  
  
“The fire you called,” said Malfoy, his voice choked as if he found it hard to talk about, “changed our Dark Marks. It didn’t destroy them. We’re bound to you now, the way we were bound to the Dark Lord, but deeper. Can’t you feel us? I can feel you in the back of my head. It’s like a headache,” he finished, his voice whiny.  
  
Harry tensed. The flames on either sides of his vision burned faster.  
  
“No,” he said, and his voice trembled. “No. I’m not like Voldemort.” Both Snape and Malfoy flinched away from the name, but Harry couldn’t take any pleasure in that right now. “I won’t be. I can’t be.”  
  
“You both speak Parseltongue,” Malfoy said, holding up his fingers as if he meant to count off a bunch of similarities. “You both have a lot of power. You both have terrible tempers. You—”  
  
“I don’t care how true all those things are,” Harry said, and his voice had become steady again. _Good_. It was utterly preposterous that he could have—control of the transformed Dark Marks somehow, or whatever Malfoy was implying. It had to be a joke. “It doesn’t mean that I want to call people to me and have them kneel at my feet.”  
  
“One may be like the Dark Lord in other ways.” Snape’s eyes were larger than Harry had ever seen them, and more open. Of course, the emotion they were overflowing with was bitterness, but at least Harry was used to that. He didn’t think Snape was about to suddenly play a joke on him like Malfoy was trying to. “The Dark Marks bonded us to him. Through them, he could summon us to him, find us, and torment us. He might send pleasure through the Marks, too—I believe he did to Bellatrix—but I, at least, never felt it.” He looked straight at Harry, and Harry shivered. He still hated being the focus of that attention; it made him sure that Snape was about to yell at him for messing up a potion at any moment. “And now you have control of those Marks. You can do the same things to us.” Snape’s voice fell. “And what Miss Granger says about the force of light and life you summoned is perfectly true, as much as I wish it were only Gryffindor rubbish. The nature of the Marks has changed because of that force. It consumed the Dark magic that _He_ used to Mark us in the first place. You are more open to us. You can feel our emotions and our memories. We can feel yours.”  
  
Harry folded his arms across his chest. The thought of someone spying in his head was terrifying. He’d hated it when Snape tried to give him Occlumency lessons, and he hated it now. “I certainly can’t,” he snapped.  
  
“There should be something,” Malfoy said. “A light, or a sensation in the back of your head. Like a headache,” he added pointedly, and began massaging his temples.  
  
 _Poor delicate mummy’s boy_. Harry sneered at him.  
  
Malfoy’s head snapped up and he stared at Harry. “I felt that,” he whispered. “I can feel your contempt for me.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m sneering at you right now, Malfoy,” he said. “It hardly takes a genius to figure that out.”  
  
“Potter.” Snape sounded as weary as though he were breaking up a fight they’d had hundreds of times before. Harry resisted the urge to scowl at the sheets. He and Malfoy had never fought because Malfoy had tried to convince him they were magically bonded before, and this time, Malfoy had started it. “Can you sense anything of the kind that Mr. Malfoy talks about? There should be some sign of our presence in your mind. Lights. Sounds. Colors—”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Harry said.   
  
It was a sound of rejection rather than denial, and Snape seemed to know that. He leaned forwards, his Marked left forearm still cradled in his right hand. “What do you see?”  
  
Harry moved his eyes right and then left, appalled by the implications. Now that he concentrated, he could make out that the golden glow was Malfoy—in some strange, indefinable way, but as clearly as if his name were written in letters across the flame. And the purple-black glow was Snape. Harry didn’t know exactly what they were feeling, contrary to Snape’s claim, but he knew the colors represented something, and the flames probably waxed and waned with the strength of their emotions.  
  
“I can see fires,” Harry whispered. “One for you, and one for Malfoy.” Then he realized that he sounded like a scared little kid, and he defiantly sat up straighter. “But I don’t know why they’re the colors they are.”  
  
“There are books on color symbolism, and the use of colors within magical bonds, that we can consult to find that out.” Snape made a small, dismissive gesture with one hand. His eyes never left Harry. “What is important is that you accept this, and know that there is nothing we can do to change it.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous,” Harry snapped. “I can control the bonds, right? I ought to be able to will them to stop existing.” He closed his eyes and “pushed” magical energy at the flames as hard as he could, thinking, _Stop. Cease. Stop_ —  
  
“Harry, no!”  
  
Hermione’s voice made Harry snap his eyes open again. Malfoy was lying in the middle of his hospital bed, his hands on his chest as if he were having a heart attack, and his mouth moving in pained silence. Snape crouched with his hands on his shoulders, panting harshly. Long beads of blood ran across his fingers and down his sleeves. It looked as though his back had been torn open by some wild animal.  
  
“Do _not_ ,” Snape said, his voice breathless with agony and fear, “do that again, Potter.”  
  
Harry wiped his mouth with one hand. He couldn’t escape the evidence of what he’d done, even though his mind recoiled from the thoughts. Somehow, trying to kill the flames was the same as trying to kill Malfoy and Snape. He would undo everything he’d tried to do when he battled Voldemort—or burned him to death, or whatever it was that had really happened—if they died now.  
  
Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. Her eyes were bright with tears. “You can’t do that,” she whispered. “Harry, magical bonds usually _are_ permanent. And since Snape, at least, was willing when he took the Dark Mark—”  
  
“So was I, Granger.” Harry had never heard Malfoy sound the way he did just at that moment, but then, he’d never heard him just after he had a heart attack, either. Harry kept his eyes away from the other boy. He was too ashamed to look at him right now. “I was proud, then. I didn’t know what service to the Dark Lord really entailed, or that he would threaten my parents. I agreed.”  
  
“Willing bonds are always the hardest to snap,” Hermione said quietly, rubbing Harry’s shoulder. “And when the Dark Marks transformed, they did keep some of their essential qualities. So far as the magic is concerned, Malfoy and Professor Snape agreed to be bonded to you.” She hesitated. “They may even have agreed again, or had to pass some test, while the fire was burning.”  
  
Harry glanced at Snape and Malfoy, but Snape’s face was closed and Malfoy lay with his hands in front of his eyes. He decided it didn’t matter, and forged on into what was important.  
  
“But I won’t control them,” he said. “I _won’t_. It would be like—it would be like controlling a house-elf, Hermione. They’re free. They need to be free.” He turned to Snape. He ought to understand, even if Malfoy—who was a frightened kid most of the time—didn’t. “Don’t you want to be free, sir? After you’ve spent all this time as a spy, and a Death Eater, doing what Dumbledore and Voldemort wanted you to?”  
  
Snape was silent for long moments, and when he spoke, Harry suspected he wasn’t getting one tenth of the thoughts that had raced behind his face in that silence. “I admit that liberty has its attractive qualities, Potter,” he said. “But so does life. I would prefer life in phoenix-marked chains to death in freedom.” He looked up and into Harry’s eyes then. Harry winced. When he’d seen that Snape’s face was closed again, he had imagined it would _stay_ closed. Instead, Snape was looking at him with a piercing honesty that Harry had to glance away from. “And you forget. I can feel your emotions through this bond, which is stronger and more personal than the one I possessed with the Dark Lord—doubtless because his bond was dissipated among so many others. I… _know_ that you do not want to hurt me, because I can feel it. Your fervency for my freedom is rather touching,” he added then, in a snide tone. “There are far worse masters.”  
  
“But I don’t want to be a master at all,” Harry said. He shuddered. It was hard to explain his revulsion, and maybe he didn’t have to, if Malfoy and Snape could feel it. But he knew he would have to put it into words for Hermione, at least, so she could help him find some way to break these bonds. “I want you to be able to go your own way. To do whatever you want. My own life was controlled for a long time, by the prophecy and Voldemort. Now I want to be ordinary. Having other people’s lives depend on me…” He took a deep breath. There ought to be a more eloquent way to say this, but he couldn’t think of one. “I don’t want it.”  
  
“We didn’t ask for this either, Potter,” Malfoy whispered. “But it’s here. And I think the bond is taking deeper root. I can feel your emotions better than I could when I woke up.” He shifted and looked at Snape. “He _really_ does want us free, doesn’t he?”  
  
“He does.” Snape nodded, but he was looking at Harry.  
  
Harry panicked. It was one thing to have them alive because of him; fine, they could owe him life-debts, the way Malfoy probably already did for rescuing him from the Fiendfyre. But his head was _his_. His private thoughts had always been the place where he could make fun of the Dursleys, secure in the fact that they could never overhear and never take the freedom of his mind away from him. He’d challenged Voldemort in his mind when he was powerless to do so in body. He wanted to be _alone_ in it.  
  
Abruptly, the flames on either side of his vision vanished. Malfoy cursed and Snape sat up straighter. “I can’t feel you anymore,” said Malfoy. “What’d you _do_?” He was whining again.  
  
“He shut off emotional contact with us,” Snape said slowly. “That makes sense. As the master of the bond, he can refuse to allow us into his mind or himself into ours, whilst we cannot shut down the conduits or force them open.”  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth, probably to complain that it was unfair, and then shut it again and studied the sheets.  
  
“ _There_ ,” Harry said fiercely. He wasn’t about to admit that he had no idea how he’d done that, and now that Malfoy and Snape were outside his head again, where they belonged, they would never know. “So that’s it, then. We go our separate ways.”  
  
Snape’s eyes opened very wide, and Harry got to know—not that he’d been curious—what he looked like when he was surprised. “You will still try to deny this?” he said. “You will still deny that the bonds tie us together?”  
  
Harry glared at him. “Why should they? You and Voldemort spent a lot of time apart. It’s not like he needed every Death Eater who existed trailing behind him. He just _liked_ it that way. If I can shut down the emotions and never hurt you again, then it’ll be like we never bonded.”  
  
“This bond is stronger and more personal, I said.” Snape was whispering now. “I am certain there will be unforeseen complications.”  
  
“Then you’ll go to Madam Pomfrey _if_ they start,” Harry said brusquely, and turned to Hermione and Ron. “I assume I have you to thank for keeping the hospital wing clear of reporters?”  
  
Hermione smiled in what looked like embarrassment. “Yeah.” Then she frowned. “But, Harry, magical bonds usually _do_ demand some degree of closeness. They’ve been traditionally used for marriages and to mark adoptions into pure-blood families.” She glanced back and forth between Malfoy, Snape, and Harry. “You might have to live with them, or take care of them, or—”  
  
“Or nothing,” Harry said. He whirled around to face Malfoy and Snape. “Neither of you are in pain?”  
  
Snape gave a minute shake of his head. He hadn’t stopped studying Harry as if he were some rare Potions ingredient. Malfoy wriggled.  
  
“It’s uncomfortable,” he said. “I was getting used to it, and now it’s gone. It was like—” He closed his mouth and appeared to carefully consider his next words. He’d probably been about to say something stupid, Harry thought with vicious satisfaction. “It’s like having good food taken away,” he said at last.  
  
“But your headache is gone, too?” Harry demanded.  
  
Malfoy nodded.  
  
“Well, then.” Harry leaped out of the bed, ignoring the shakiness in his legs, and tugged his robe sleeves down so that they covered his phoenix-marked arms. “Then I don’t see why we shouldn’t ignore this from this day forwards.”  
  
“There will be consequences,” Snape whispered. “There always are.”  
  
Harry shot him a scornful sideways glance. “But you don’t know what they are?” Snape looked blank. Harry snorted. “Then come talk to me when you can be more specific than Trelawney,” he said, and marched over to the door of the hospital wing.  
  
Ron and Hermione caught up with him, keeping silent until they were at the top of the stairs leading down. Then Ron cleared his throat and said, “I don’t blame you for not wanting to be bonded to Snape and Malfoy, mate. But do you think it’s smart to walk off and leave them like that?”  
  
“They can’t hurt me through the bonds,” Harry said. “I won’t hurt them. We can’t be in each other’s minds without wanting to kill each other. What’s not smart about it?” He looked right into Ron’s eyes.  
  
Ron looked uncertain, but nodded. “Reckon you’re right, mate.” Behind them, Hermione heaved an immense sigh.  
  
“Of course I am,” Harry said, and then turned to face the rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

  
“I’m _bored_ , Severus.”  
  
Had any of his fellow professors asked him whether Slytherins whinged the way that Gryffindors did, Severus would have retorted that Slytherins did not whinge at all. But he was receiving a rather good education now in righting his mistaken perceptions.  
  
“Then read a book, Draco,” he responded, keeping his eyes on the cauldron he was stirring. The rod had to move one more counterclockwise turn—and there it was, done. He pulled the rod out at once, with an upwards motion he’d perfected, and laid it neatly on the table, on a cloth that would absorb the excess potion. Then he scattered six rose petals across the surface. The potion trembled and turned clear.   
  
“I’ve _read_ all the books here. Or I don’t want to read them.” There was a muffled scuffing noise; Draco had doubtless crossed his arms in an attempt to make himself taller and more impressive, a futile endeavor. “You really need books that aren’t about Potions.”  
  
“In my own house?” Severus inquired, turning about and regarding the boy. Draco stood as he’d expected, with his arms folded, his hip leaning on the door of the lab, and his lip stuck out. Severus lowered his voice to the tone that he had used to terrorize Neville Longbottom with. “You would dare to tell me what to do?”  
  
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean—” Draco ran a hand through his hair and then buried his head in his hands, in a motion his pride once would never have permitted him. But confinement with Severus for six months, first in the same cell and then, once they were freed, in the same small house, had brought them into an uncomfortable closeness. “Damn it,” he whispered, and looked up. His eyes were blazing. Severus arched an eyebrow. So far, Draco had avoided anger, retreating into the sullen silence or terrified stillness he’d perfected during his years under the Dark Lord’s control.   
  
_We should have an open confrontation_ , Severus decided, and readied himself if necessary to push Draco past the final barrier to rage. _It will clear the muddle of emotions hovering between us._   
  
“I wasn’t trying to force you to do anything,” Draco said hotly, and ran his hand through his hair again, so that it was practically standing on end. He looked as though he had encountered Peeves in a mischievous mood and armed with a Sticking Potion. “I was just saying that I was bored, and you took it the wrong way. That’s all.”  
  
“You were insulting my taste and my book collection,” Severus snapped, flicking his voice so that Draco flinched. It was the tone more than the words that mattered. Severus had learned that long ago when kneeling to the Dark Lord and mouthing fervent declarations of devotion like the other idiots. “Tell me what in that implies simple _boredom_ , an emotion that Potter himself expresses with more grace than you do.”  
  
As he had suspected it would, the comparison to Potter forced something out of Draco. He took a step forwards, and his hand was on his wand now. Severus raised an eyebrow. _Worse than I thought_. Draco normally understood the sanctity of the Potions lab, and, even more, the sheer practical necessity of not using hexes or curses around volatile ingredients.  
  
“I’m sick to death of thinking about Potter,” Draco growled. “That’s all you think of, all day and all night. I can tell.” He nodded to the cauldron. “Why else are you brewing _that_ potion?” His voice became singsong, the tone that of all others Severus most hated. “Is poor Severus missing his Harry-Warry?”  
  
Severus threw the Body-Bind underhand and nonverbally; Draco had always had problems detecting and resisting nonverbal magic. He spluttered as he slammed into the wall, his limbs spread-eagled around him. Severus cast the Disarming Charm then, to take his wand away. Draco needed to rage, but it would be best if he were not free during it to break anything Severus might need for later. He was not entirely sure that Draco’s own limbs or brain counted among those things, but it would be best to take precautions in case they did.  
  
“I am facing reality better than you have,” Severus whispered, when he was close to the panting, pale, wide-eyed boy. “I am content to lie low until the Ministry decides that we are no longer Death Eaters hungering for a chance to resurrect the Dark Lord. I have not quarreled with my only remaining family over a childish matter—”  
  
“That’s because you _have_ no remaining family!” Draco snarled.   
  
His glare was impressive, Severus considered coolly, but lost something when compared to Lucius’s—largely because Draco still bore a thin and hunted look from the war. He had grown up but not sideways since he was fifteen years old. “You are trying to deflect the subject,” he said, and then unbuttoned his robe sleeve and showed the diving phoenix on his left arm to Draco. Draco fell silent and twitched, as Severus had expected.  
  
“You know that we cannot simply expect to walk apart from Potter and hope that our paths never cross again,” Severus continued, in the fierce tone that forced his students to pay attention. “I am brewing this potion not because I am obsessed with Potter, but because I hope to find out _why_ I am continually thinking about him, if the bonds that link us are in fact essential to our lives or well-being.” He ran an expert eye over Draco, then added, “And the potion may also reveal why you have been a shadow of yourself since Potter left.”  
  
“A shadow?” Draco yelled, and threw himself against his magical bonds, though of course in practice he only spasmed a bit before falling back against the stone. “A _shadow_? Yes, because I should be acting like a spoiled prince when my chance to attend Hogwarts has been taken away, and when H-He made me _torture_ people, and when I owe multiple life-debts to the person I hate the most, and when my own _mother_ tells me to leave the house and not come back, and my father says I’m not a suitable heir to the House of Malfoy—”  
  
Severus let him rage, listening with half an ear. The complaints were familiar. This time, at least, they were being let go instead of being subdued into a sullen sniffle. He turned back to his potion and nodded as he saw that the clarity had become occupied by a dark swirl in the middle. It was time for the final step.   
  
Draco was still ranting on, but Severus had worked with greater distractions in his time, up to and including the screams of raped Muggles in the next room. He took up the final ingredient, a vial of crushed unicorn horn, and tipped the shining powder into his palm. Carefully, he rolled it between his fingers, concentrating intensely on his desire, and then flattened his hand and blew the dust into the cauldron.  
  
“—always acted so high and mighty, like he was the Prince of Gryffindor, and now he’s in the papers all the time with the Weaselette and that sickening _smile_ of his—”  
  
The cauldron flashed, and the dark swirl became a complicated shape, which rose through the potion as if coming from a long way away. Severus stepped back warily. The Hidden History Potion was sometimes unpredictable, with the storytellers that emerged from it attacking the questioners if the secrets were especially well-kept.  
  
But this storyteller sat on the edge of the cauldron and yawned at him. It was a silvery cat, similar in size to a mortal lynx, with glittering topaz eyes and a particularly ghostly tail, as if it hadn’t been fully formed when Severus’s call came. It showed sharp teeth in the yawn, but then closed its mouth and regarded him with gratifying attention.  
  
Conscious, and pleased about it, that Draco had shut up, Severus inclined his head. “We request to know the history of the moment when Harry Potter saved our lives in the building known as the Shrieking Shack with accidental magic, and murdered the Dark Lord Voldemort—” he had been bracing himself to say the name all morning “—and his snake Nagini. And gave us these.” He held out his arm so the cat could see the phoenix.  
  
The cat stretched its neck and sniffed delicately at the mark. Severus started. The touch of its whiskers was like a drizzle of iced milk.  
  
Then the cat crouched and leaped into the air, spinning above Severus’s head and turning faster and faster. Severus, looking up at it, saw the bright vortex that spread around it turn the color of flame.   
  
And then the vortex drew him in.   
  
*  
  
Draco froze as he found himself once more in the Shrieking Shack, in chains before the Dark Lord. But this time, the things he remembered as all-important—namely, his fear and the horrible humiliation at how easily a modified Summoning Charm had fetched him into his Lord’s presence—faded in the face of the burning about Potter.   
  
And he couldn’t feel physical sensations at all, he realized a moment later. At least he didn’t have to endure the agony of the floor on his knees a second time, or the dust in his nose that made him have to sneeze and increased his terror.  
  
Potter had burst out from behind a crate and was frozen in the act of extending a hand towards the Dark Lord. The fire burst out from his forehead, _melting_ the scar and turning it into a brilliant black pinprick on the crest of the wave. Draco thought he saw a small figure beside the scar, a robed and cowled shape with a face that resembled the Dark Lord’s, but the next moment the figure grew wings and writhed, changing.  
  
And then he was lost in a storm of phoenixes.  
  
Draco gasped. Distant though the physical sensations were from him, it was amazing to have brilliance like this surrounding and crowning him. And he _could_ feel something, after all: feathered wings brushing him with flashes of heat.   
  
A deep space seemed to open in his soul, and then the wings were beating inside him, surrounding his heart. Claws gripped his heart. Draco tilted back his head, trying in vain to catch his breath and only swallowing fire. The fire raced to his left arm and lingered there, concentrating until he knew it should have been painful.  
  
But there was no pain. Only intense protectiveness, and pride, and desperation.  
  
And life.  
  
After the Dark Mark, Draco knew what it was like to have death branded on his skin. Life seemed to be seeking to brand itself there just as strongly. When the fire swirled again and dived out from him, this time bearing him along instead of pushing him before it, he was not surprised to look down and find the Dark Mark had been purged, exchanged for a phoenix.  
  
He had seen what followed next before, but now he watched with much greater understanding, and without being blinded by his own panic. The fire embraced Severus—Draco was trying to remember not to call him Professor Snape, because he wasn’t Draco’s professor any more—and did the same thing to him. And then it lashed out at Nagini and the Dark Lord.  
  
Scarlet bird after scarlet bird fell on them, belling the purest song Draco had ever heard. The Dark Lord screamed and Nagini hissed, but it was of no use. Each phoenix wrapped its wings around them, and they took fire.  
  
A tiny dark figure tried to fly away from Nagini, too, but a determined phoenix caught and swallowed it.  
  
The Dark Lord flung up the Elder Wand. The small birds promptly became one enormous bird, piling into its body in a series of tiny flashes, and the giant phoenix opened its beak and swallowed the Dark Lord and the Elder Wand both.  
  
Light swept past towards Draco and Severus, an enormous net fringed with darkness. The darkness, Draco understood dimly, was from Potter’s scar and from the Marks that he and Severus had carried. The net gathered them up, and held them in tendrils of radiance that joined with the ones encircling Potter.  
  
Lines glowing gold and red and green, lines of pure spirit, cut out from Potter, around the fire and through it, and wove them together. And the fire responded with more netting, and Potter with more lines of spirit.  
  
Draco felt awed and humbled as he watched their fates woven together. The bonds might begin with the phoenix marks on their arms—and the mosaic of birds winding themselves around Potter’s arms as he watched—but they were far more numerous than that, far deeper.   
  
He _had_ been refusing to accept reality. Severus was right. They couldn’t ignore the bonds because the bonds were anchored to their souls, their minds, and their bodies. There was nowhere they could go to escape them, nothing to be done that would part them. For all three of them, no “outside” to the bonds existed any more.  
  
The fire forged them and melted them together into a single unit, and then it finished with a line of Dark magic that leaped from Potter’s forehead to both Severus’s and Draco’s arms. Then it dropped them, and the vision whirled away, and Draco found himself in Severus’s lab once more, as Severus bowed deeply to the cat-creature he’d summoned from the potion.   
  
The cat bowed back, then turned and leaped into the cauldron, diminishing with a yowl. Draco shivered. It was a faint but fitting pulse of magic to the great working he had just watched happen.  
  
In the silence that followed, something occurred to Draco, and he frowned. Both Severus and Granger, back in that disastrous afternoon after the bonding occurred, had said that he must have consented to becoming Potter’s possession. But he couldn’t remember doing so, and the vision hadn’t showed him that.  
  
“Well.”  
  
Draco looked up quickly. Severus stood in front of the cauldron, staring at it with an expression of deep thought. His hands twisted over each other in a way that Draco didn’t like, because it meant he was uneasy. The phoenix mark on his arm flashed and glittered even in the relatively subdued lights of the potions lab.  
  
Then he stepped back, turned, and flicked his wand casually. Draco dropped out of the Body-Bind and to the floor, landing hard on his hands and knees and shaking his head.  
  
At once his anger rushed back. He didn’t care if he and Severus had shared some incredible experience in the Shrieking Shack. That didn’t excuse the way the man had been putting him off and holding him at bay since then.  
  
“You bastard—” he began.  
  
“Your mouth is filthy, Draco,” Severus said, his voice as cold as the Hogwarts dungeons in winter. “And uncontrolled. One thing I will teach you if it breaks you is how to choose your words more carefully, and to insult others so as to satisfy your feelings whilst leaving them unaware they have been insulted.” He paused, spinning his wand between his fingers. Draco flushed, but deliberately remained silent as he climbed back to his feet and dusted off his robes. He didn’t want Severus to think of him as an idiot, and it was only too plain that he did.  
  
“At least I understand the bonds now,” Severus remarked suddenly.  
  
“The potion told you that much?” With great effort, Draco kept from sounding sullen. He’d seen the bonds more closely in the vision, but that didn’t tell him the consequences of them.  
  
“It did.” Severus’s face was grimmer than Draco had ever seen it, even when Severus was trying to convince him to give up his idea of killing Dumbledore. “The clue lies in the transformation of the Horcrux Potter carried within him.”  
  
Draco froze. He knew what Horcruxes were; he and Severus had spent so much time alone in their prison cells and then in this grubby little house that they’d talked the war to death. But Severus had never mentioned that Potter himself was a Horcrux.  
  
“Is that why his scar disappeared?” he whispered.  
  
Severus gave him a sharp nod. “I see that you are not entirely useless as a student,” he murmured, and Draco wondered if he should be angry again or flush again, with pleasure this time. He often experienced both reactions at once around Severus. “Yes. The scar was the visual representation of the Horcrux, which was entwined with Potter’s soul. It was also the seed of the bonds between us, and the reason the light and fire came out with darkness attending them. Potter has woven a stronger bond than he supposes, death mingled with life.” His voice sank as if he were talking to himself instead of explaining to someone who could hear him and wanted answers. “I should have known it. The hunger I feel is not natural.”  
  
“Hunger?” Draco demanded. He couldn’t remember feeling especially hungry since Potter left them. He ate as much as ever.  
  
Severus looked up sharply. “Craving for food we can satisfy,” he said. “But our bodies need more than that, now.” He wrinkled his nose. “As much as it pains me to admit it, we must feel Potter’s emotions in order to be—full.”  
  
Draco stared at him. He’d never heard of a bond like this. Yes, he had known that any bond that left a phoenix on his arm would be unusual, but bonds that shared emotions were for the benefit of each partner. This—  
  
“That makes it sound like we’re vampires feeding on him,” he blurted.  
  
“The bonds have made us into psychic vampires of a sort,” Severus said, and his voice had sunk again. “The Horcrux in itself was essentially vampiric, feeding on the energy of a murder and a piece of torn soul to exist. It did not need more food than that, because a soul is immortal and endless. But Potter wove life into the bonds when he determined that we _must_ live, no matter what the cost. And what does a living being do? It eats.” Severus sighed. “And the Dark Marks may have had something to do with it, too. We could feel the pain _He_ wished to inflict on us. Now we can feel—other things. Potter, as the home of the transformed Horcrux, does not have our needs, but he inspires them in us.”  
  
Draco shook his head. “How in the world can you be sure? I mean, what would the signs of this need be? I’m as fit as I ever was.”  
  
Severus turned to stare at him. “You’ve lost two stone in the last six months, Draco,” he said. “My own weight loss has not been as drastic, but I have found control of my emotions drifting out of my grasp in much the same way you have, though not for as long. I have also noticed an—emptiness in my magic, and my thoughts. I read the same book over and over again, never absorbing the contents of the pages. My mind feels full only when I think of Potter.” He stepped forwards. “You have felt this, too.”  
  
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and refused to respond. Of course, silence would only seem like truth to Severus.  
  
That was the true reason his mother had banished him from the Manor. He couldn’t stop thinking of Potter, talking of Potter. He couldn’t take an interest in anything she’d tried to involve him in, from marriage prospects to attendance at celebrations in the wake of the war to the fact that Lucius had gone to Azkaban and so he was technically in possession of the Malfoy artifacts and money. She had sent him to Severus until, as she put it, “he could grow up and stop obsessing over a schoolboy.”  
  
But if Severus was right, Potter was much more than a schoolboy to both of them, and always would be.  
  
“We need him, don’t we?” he asked, willing Severus to say they didn’t.  
  
“We do,” Severus said. “I am not sure what will happen if he continues to deprive us of his emotions. I am not willing to risk the finding out.”  
  
No, Draco thought, Severus never was. He was committed to survival, no matter how the world changed, no matter what he had to do to gain it. He never seemed to consider that there might be higher goals than mere survival, the maintaining of one’s pride among them.  
  
“I refuse to ask for his help,” he said, and lifted his head so that Severus could look into his eyes and see how serious he was. He could even use Legilimency on him. Draco didn’t care. He only knew that he couldn’t bring himself to beg from Potter, especially a concession as ridiculous as this one. Potter would only laugh and refuse—and what would happen when the news got out that Draco required a Potter to care for and support him? “I am a Malfoy, and we have our pride.”  
  
“And _that_ ,” said Severus, “is the reason that I will be the one to ask. You are a fool, Draco, and a child. Go to your room.”  
  
Draco stood there for a moment. Severus had never given him a scolding that violent in the last six months. He had seemed to understand when Draco confessed his fear of the task the Dark Lord had given him, and how he had tortured people out of fear, too. He had never made fun, never said anything to imply that he thought Draco was less than a full-grown young man marked by the horrors of war.  
  
Tears stung his eyes. Draco turned and ran out of the potions lab before Severus could actually see them fall.  
  
*  
  
Left alone, Severus tilted his head back and stood silently beside the cauldron for long moments. He was exhausted, as much by the thought of the work that lay ahead as the work he had done so far in interpreting the vision.  
  
It was possible that exhaustion had blurred his understanding. Perhaps he had paid too much attention to the darkness that lay under the shining surface of the magical bonds, and not enough to the brightness itself.   
  
Yet he was certain he was correct.  
  
The Horcrux had been the first thing to transform, the accidental magic seizing one of the greatest sources of magic in Potter’s body to perform its work. It did not matter that Potter had not known it was there. He had not known what he would do to save Draco and Severus, either. That much had been clear from the boy’s wide, terrified eyes, and his expansive, uncontrolled gestures, the result of the boy’s magic rather than his will moving his body.  
  
So the Horcrux was the seed of it all. And it would drain him and Draco of life if it could, the way that Dumbledore had told Severus about _His_ diary trying to drain the Weasley girl. They needed Potter’s emotions. They needed access to his mind and his memories. That was the first consequence.  
  
Severus had glimpsed others, in the way that the fire had twined itself about the Dark Marks. They had spread their wings and become phoenixes, but not without a certain amount of twisting and writhing first, as the Dark Lord’s will tried to resist the new magic. The fire had compromised in the end, allowing the Marks to retain some of their original nature instead of altering them completely.  
  
Severus raised his arm and stared at the phoenix on it. The bird had its wings spread as it soared down his forearm towards his wrist, its feathers blazing, its beak open, its eye glittering in fury.  
  
The Dark Marks were symbols of loyalty, the sign of the Dark Lord’s chosen. He never gave them except to those who were willing and whom he believed would be useful—or those whom he needed to stand close to him for other reasons, such as Lucius Malfoy’s son. He could call his followers through them and force them to respond, like tame dogs. It only made sense that the new phoenixes would be signs of loyalty, too.   
  
Severus laid his finger along the phoenix’s beak. It was so brilliantly rendered that it seemed almost ready to bite him.   
  
_It still may._  
  
Because Potter did not have _His_ personality, the loyalty requirement could not be fulfilled with a painful summons. Instead, Severus thought it likely that Potter would need to spend time with them. To live in the same house? That, he could not tell; the vision had not been so specific. But he thought it likely.   
  
And last of all was what Severus had suspected but not seen until this moment. He had torn his eyes away from his own fascinating transformation in the vision and watched as the fire hit Nagini and the Dark Lord. He did see them utterly destroyed, rejected as foreign to the forming bonds, stinking of too much death. He had no worries on that score.  
  
But he had also seen the fire transform and bind the Elder Wand, claiming the power of one of the Deathly Hallows and weaving it into the bonds for extra strength.  
  
The Elder Wand’s nature was destruction, conquest. Its reason for existing was power. And the spiritual essence of that wand was now traveling between the bonds, circulating through them like the blood through their bodies.  
  
Severus did not know how the need for that power would manifest itself, but he suspected the simplest way of controlling it was for all three of them to share magic. And he also suspected they did not want to find out the complicated way.  
  
Severus ran his finger up his phoenix’s flowing tail feathers.  
  
He had not survived two Markings, two wars, and two masters to die now, because Potter was reluctant to accept the fate his own magic had chosen for him.  
  
In the morning, he would owl Potter.  
  
*  
  
“ _Duck_ , Potter!”  
  
Despite the short time he’d been training under Galahad Ledbetter, Harry knew that instruction was a lie. He leaped instead, and the curse sizzled along beneath him, singing the bottoms of his boots. He landed with a jolt that made his teeth clack against his tongue and opened a small cut, but he bent his knees to absorb the force, as he’d been taught, and then dropped into a crouch. This time, it was the correct decision, and the second curse flew above him, aimed at where his chest would have been.  
  
Ledbetter let out his laugh, which sounded like a crow’s, and raised a hand in signal of the attack finishing. Harry smiled back, but kept his grip firm on his wand and his eyes on Ledbetter’s hands anyway. More than once, the Auror instructor had called an end to a training session and then sent a spell after him anyway.  
  
This time, though, Ledbetter nodded in appreciation and limped closer. He had scars on his face to rival Mad-Eye Moody, a cluster of them like a five-pointed star around his right eye where he’d almost lost it and a long, twisting scar across his jugular vein that Harry couldn’t understand how he’d survived. Ledbetter muttered something about a fast partner when he asked. And he limped, too, though in his case the curse had wrecked his knee, and wrecked any replacements or healing spells St. Mungo’s tried to give him. Ledbetter bore with it philosophically.  
  
Harry could see why. He was the best dueling instructor among the Aurors, and he somehow held the highest record both for numbers of captures made and for number of surviving trainees released into the wild.  
  
Harry wondered how in the world he did it. He kept hoping there was some secret other than sheer hard work, an illegal potion or something maybe. Ledbetter had sometimes hinted as much.  
  
Now the Auror nodded and said, “Well done, Potter. I wondered about taking you on without NEWTS and the rest of it, but there’s talent there, oh yes.”  
  
Harry grinned at him. One thing he liked about Ledbetter was that he spoke the truth, without making concessions to Harry’s supposed status as the Chosen One. Harry got a more honest report of his progress from him than he did from most of his teachers, who either praised him excessively, seeing strength that wasn’t there, or seemed to think they needed to deride him just to prove that they weren’t taken in by the legend.  
  
 _Like Snape._   
  
But Harry had promised himself that he wasn’t going to think about Snape or Malfoy, and right now Ledbetter was relaxed, the crooked corner of his mouth hooked in a smile. Harry opened his mouth to ask again about the way he always kept busy.  
  
And the moment was ruined when a black owl swooped into the training room and bore down on Harry, its wings moving so smoothly that they barely seemed to stir the air. Harry groaned as the infernal bird dropped the letter on his head. It had an elaborate seal, and that probably meant it was another marriage proposal from the interminable string of pure-blood girls who seemed to think he should get married immediately. Harry was thinking of yielding to Ginny’s plea for a quick engagement, just to keep them _off_ him.  
  
Ledbetter chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Luck, Potter,” he said. “Just remember that talent in the field doesn’t always equate to talent in bed.” He winked. “And remember, being encumbered with a wife and family isn’t the way you want to go if you’re going to become the best among the Aurors.”  
  
“Then I’ll take second-best, and thanks,” Harry said, and waved as Ledbetter left, still crowing. Giving up his dream of a family wasn’t something he could do.  
  
 _Not that that will make me want kids right now_ , he thought, rolling his eyes, and tore the letter open. The sealed ones had a nasty habit of Transfiguring into Howlers if Harry didn’t at least look at them.  
  
One glance at the handwriting, and he had to sit down hard on the chair Ledbetter had conjured to hide behind earlier, the breath going out of him.  
  
 _Mister Potter,  
  
The bond remains, though you have tried to ignore it. Lack of access to your emotions is causing both of us weight loss and loss of concentration. I have used a potion to view the moment in which the bond was constructed, and such loss will only become worse if you do not come to us.   
  
The bond will also require you to spend large amounts of time around us, to fulfill the loyalty requirements carried in the Dark Marks, and to find some way to share your magical power with us, as its creation consumed the Elder Wand.  
  
If you have doubts about any of the magical theory I mention here, you have merely to show this letter to Miss Granger_. She _will be able to understand why we do not seek merely to torment you.  
  
Yours,  
Severus Snape. _  
  
Harry had to laugh in spite of himself. He was sure the last paragraph and the word before the signature were meant purely to taunt him.  
  
But he sobered as the implications sank in. If the bonds were causing some sort of pain to Snape and Malfoy…  
  
 _I don’t want to have anything to do with them. I can’t. This is my life. They can live theirs._  
  
But he’d learned more about life-debts since he had started his course of Auror training, and how seriously they had to be taken. Saving a life was powerful magic, which was one reason so few wizards showed the talent to become Healers. It had to be handled and hoarded carefully, and, most of the time, those who owed the debts had to come to _some_ sort of cordial relationship with the debts’ recipients. Harry could understand now why Snape had been so bitter when James saved his life. There was no way that a cordial relationship would ever be achieved there, and, in the meantime, the knowledge of the debt would remain in the back of his mind like a wound. And then Harry’s father had died, cutting off any chance that Snape would ever be able to repay the debt in full.  
  
He’d done well enough saving Harry’s life. But it was not ideal, and Harry had seen in the Potions classroom how poorly Snape dealt with anything less than ideal.  
  
Abruptly he sat straight up and stared at the letter. _And it’s going to be the same way with this, isn’t it? He’s going to demand everything of me. If I don’t behave just the way he wants, then he’ll make wilder and wilder claims, and all the while he’ll enjoy having power over me. Maybe he and Malfoy are technically under my control because of the bonds, but he knows that he can use my saving-people thing to manipulate me.  
  
I’m not going to have that. I finally have my freedom, and it’s_ my _choice who I share it with._   
  
As nothing else could have done, that consideration forced Harry’s mind into rapid leaps. There had to be some way of controlling the emotions that flowed through the bond. So maybe he could teach himself to let Snape and Malfoy feel anger and happiness and nothing else. Those were strong, basic emotions. They ought to do.  
  
And what about creating some construct of himself, the way he was learning to do with the Homunculus Spell? Homunculi could take the place of someone for up to twenty-four hours, performing a simple duty like watching for enemies or cleaning the floor. That might substitute for his presence in the house, and in the meantime he could create a new Homunculus every day and send it. The spell was physically exhausting, which was one reason more people didn’t use it, but Harry would pay that price willingly if it meant that he didn’t have to be in contact with Snape and Malfoy.  
  
And there had to be ways to share magic that didn’t demand his presence. He would ask Hermione. He would want her to come with him when he went to visit Snape and Malfoy, anyway—because God knew that he wouldn’t be able to convince them of how sensible these alternate arrangements were by letter. Another sight of him ought to remind them how annoying he was, and then they’d be glad to accept something else.  
  
And in the meantime…  
  
Harry smiled. He had a brilliant idea, a _marvelous_ idea. And no one could say that it wouldn’t benefit Snape and Malfoy, because of course it would.  
  
Snape’s name was partially clear, but he was under strict watch still, and so was Malfoy—more because he was the notorious Lucius Malfoy’s son than for any other reason, Harry knew. Harry would work further, to persuade the Wizengamot to acquit them completely. That way, they would be able to travel abroad and take more jobs.  
  
And then he’d push them to do things that would take their minds off _him_. Brew complicated potions. Visit countries they’d always wanted to see. Wrestle dragons. Go diving for pearls off the coast of Scotland. Anything, in fact, that would encourage them to use and enjoy their lives and their freedom.  
  
 _That’s what I’m enjoying. That’s what I won for them. They should be taking advantage of it._  
  
Harry didn’t believe the bonds were _really_ necessary. But as far as he knew, Snape and Malfoy were just cooped up together in Snape’s house in a Muggle neighborhood, not really doing or enjoying anything. No wonder they had time to brood on him and think that living with him would be preferable to their current existence. Almost anything would.  
  
But Harry had no intention of surrendering what he’d worked so hard to obtain. This way, he got to keep it and to give Snape and Malfoy something of the good things they’d lost back. It was so perfect that he wondered why Snape hadn’t demanded _that_ kind of consideration instead.  
  
The door of the training room opened, and Ginny stuck her head curiously past it. “Harry? I saw Ledbetter come out. Is something wrong? Why are you still sitting here?”  
  
Harry grinned and shook his head. “Just some business with Snape and Malfoy,” he said. “I can settle it tomorrow.” He held out his arms.  
  
Ginny came into them slowly, reluctantly, her eyes flickering back and forth between Harry’s arms and his face. Harry sighed and kissed her until she relaxed and melted against him. She was hesitant when it came to talking about the bond, for some reason, as if she thought that Snape and Malfoy could really claim him if he didn’t want to be claimed.  
  
Harry had told her over and over again that she didn’t have to worry, and he would tell her that as many times as she needed to hear it. He was happy with Ginny, warm and comfortable and safe. There was no one else he wanted, and he would never let Snape and Malfoy come before her even if he did have to spend more time with them for some reason.  
  
But he wouldn’t have to spend that time, because he had solved everyone’s problems.   
  
_Really_ , he thought, _I don’t understand why everyone thinks saving the world is so hard. They ought to try it sometime. Let me get a rest_.  
  
Then the snog got more enthusiastic, Ginny’s hands firming on his back, and Harry had something else to think about—  
  
At least until his arms began to burn.  
  
Harry leaped back with a startled curse. Ginny squeaked. Harry muttered a hasty apology as he pulled the sleeves of his training robe back.  
  
The phoenix marks glowed, lit from within by the blue-black glow and the yellow-green one he had seen in the hospital wing. Harry could also feel a ringing in his head, like the echo of a shout in a hollow space.  
  
 _Snape would say that my head is one gigantic hollow space_ , he thought absently as he snatched up his wand. He picked up Snape’s letter and shoved it into Ginny’s hands.  
  
“Would you see that Hermione gets this?” he asked breathlessly. “I have to go.”  
  
“Sure,” Ginny said. “But, Harry, what’s wrong?”  
  
Harry gestured to his arms. “Something with Snape and Malfoy, I think.”   
  
He paused when he saw her wounded expression, and briefly pulled her into a hug to kiss her on the forehead. Sod whatever was happening with Snape and Malfoy, he always had time now to reassure the people he cared about.  
  
“I’ll come back,” he whispered. “And you’ll always be more important to me than _they_ are.”  
  
Then he sprinted out of the room, his arms burning more fiercely. Harry wondered what in the world was happening, since he’d thought that he could give them pain but not the other way around, and then decided that it didn’t matter.  
  
 _I’m coming_ , he thought, willing the thought down the bonds and hoping they could hear it, before he stepped outside the Ministry and Apparated.   
  
It wasn’t until later that he realized he had Apparated without coordinates, following the tug of the phoenixes.   
  
And by then he had still _other_ things to think about.


	3. Chapter 3

  
Severus lay on the floor of his potions lab, staring up at the ceiling. His breath and his pulse fluttered in and out of being, and he could see spirals dancing and exploding in front of his eyes. The phoenix mark on his arm shone as if it would rise off his skin and fly for help, but Severus knew that was only an illusion born of desperate hope.  
  
 _Dying after all_ , he thought, and shut his eyes. _It seems that my owl to Potter was not in time._  
  
He knew it had to be the bond that was killing him. The pain had begun in his arm and crept slowly up to his shoulder. Intent on the Veritaserum he was brewing—he needed to have a stock ready by the time Potter visited—he had ignored it at first. Some of the ingredients used in Veritaserum were corrosive. It was entirely possible that he had spilled some on his skin. But the pain had spread so slowly that he knew he still had time to clean it off before it damaged him.  
  
He had thought.   
  
What irritated him most at the moment was that the Veritaserum would be ruined by the length of time he had lain on the floor writhing, beyond the skill of even a master brewer to restore.   
  
What _grieved_ him most was the fact that Draco was dying, as alone as he was, in his room upstairs. Severus had long since reconciled himself to the thought that he would not die a natural death. But having fought so long and so hard for Draco, and then seeing this fate descend on him—  
  
 _Do not be literal if you can help it, Severus_ , he thought then. _You cannot see him. You might as well die speaking truth in your mind, if no place else._   
  
His hands flailed and scrabbled and grasped at air. His mind stood back in some disgust and watched his struggles. He could not help trying to survive, even now. But he knew that he could not. If the pain had been in his arm alone, he would have managed to drag himself to his feet, find Draco, and Apparate with him to the Ministry, where Potter would surely be at this hour, having been accepted into the Auror training program. But this pain was throughout him, dull and persistent. Certain.  
  
 _Like the boy’s damn emotions that I will die not feeling again_ , he thought, and closed his eyes, because he desired to die looking into the darkness he believed would claim him. He did not intend to flinch, even at the end.  
  
 _I am no coward._   
  
Footsteps slapped on the flagstone floor, and Severus forced his eyes open despite his resolve. If Draco had somehow managed to stand and come looking for him, that was a sign of hope. Severus would do his best to leave the boy with words of wisdom. He needed to reconcile with Potter for his own good. Severus had thought that their slow deterioration meant they had time before something drastic happened. But obviously not. They understood too little about this bond, and—  
  
He wondered if returning hope had deluded him when he realized that the man kneeling over him was Harry Potter. But no, the blaze of his phoenix marks lit his face, more powerfully than would have happened if Draco’s single one had been shining.  
  
“Snape.” Potter’s voice was low but frantic. “You’re dying. What—what do I do? How do I save you?” He stuck out a hand and laid it on Severus’s phoenix, as if he imagined that would convey some miraculous healing.  
  
Severus envisioned the words he needed to speak strung out in a sentence in his mind and concentrated on rendering his breath regular. He could speak. He had done harder things. And if he had once imagined he could rest, well. Clearly his life was simply one hard thing after another.  
  
 _And I am still alive._  
  
“Open—the bond. We need—emotions. Owl—said so.” There was more that he wanted to say, the arguments that would convince Potter. And sure enough, the boy’s brow furrowed and he shook his head a little, showing he didn’t believe Severus. He actually opened his mouth to object, to say that there should be something else he could do, rather than sharing his precious feelings. Severus knew the words as if he’d heard them many times, but for the moment, he was too weak to oppose them before they were said. He watched in weary disgust as Potter’s lips formed the first word.  
  
And then Draco screamed from upstairs.  
  
It was worse than any scream Severus had ever heard, a ripping, sobbing squeal that sounded as if it had been dragged out of the depth of Draco’s soul with hooked claws. The sound swelled, and Severus realized his cheeks were damp with the sweat that had broken out on them in response to the cry.  
  
But it was the best thing that could have happened at the moment, because Potter gave a dry sob of his own and let the barriers down.  
  
Severus gasped and sat up as suddenly as Potter had when Granger had cast the Awakening Charm on him in the Hogwarts hospital wing. Electricity sizzled and danced along his nerves. His hands felt ten-fingered and longer than normal, tangling around each other. He swam in a sea of grief and recrimination, but the emotions were sweet in their very richness, and because they flowed from a separate bundle of personality in the back of his head. This was not guilt for _his_ crimes.  
  
He had never felt so good, except the brief moments in the immediate aftermath of the bonding when Potter had also let his emotions flow freely.   
  
He looked up and realized that he had laid his hands on Potter’s shoulders, drawing him closer. Potter stared at him, and Severus’s mind swam with memories, too: the moment when Potter had peered from behind the crate in the Shrieking Shack and seen him and Draco chained; his first Potions class, as he compared his first glimpse of Severus with one of the last; the night when Severus had run from Hogwarts after Dumbledore’s death. They flooded together with the emotions, and Severus shuddered, back arching with a thrill that was almost sexual.   
  
The memories were not pleasant, but their very distinctness from his, the fact that they came from a different mind, was intoxicating. Severus had lived alone in his head for too long, his Occlumency barriers up to prevent any unnatural sharing. He had drowned in his memories of the wars with the Dark Lord because there was no one to whom he could confide them, and he was not willing to listen to the ridiculous, babbled secrets of others simply on the off chance they would listen to him without judgment. Dumbledore had usually known what his grievances were without his speaking them, but that was unpleasant in its own way.  
  
But Potter’s memories could place him at a distance from certain events, at an angle from others, and let him come to peace with them finally.  
  
Severus had not suspected this would happen, though he had caught glimpses of Potter’s memories that first night as well. Now he thought himself stupid for not suspecting it.  
  
And he knew there was no way he could give this up, not when the floodtide of Potter’s guilt dislodged his own from its deep place in his soul. He was instantly addicted. He dug his fingers further into Potter’s shoulders.  
  
Potter wrenched free from him with a violent shudder. He cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the floor as he moved away. Severus watched him in silence, controlling the impulse to reach out again. He wanted to—and that was a side-effect of the bond he had not counted on, that the memories and emotions were stronger when Potter was closer—but what he felt was enough to sustain him for right now. The bond was pumping life and health into him. His mind sharpened and expanded as though he could figure out potions that had puzzled him for years.  
  
 _I am not willing to live without this again._  
  
“I should go check on Malfoy” Potter muttered, and then whirled and trotted out of the lab.  
  
Left to his own devices, for the moment, Severus flicked his wand and quietly brought down the wards on Spinner’s End, the ones that would prevent Apparition, Portkeys, or brooms from entering the premises. Potter was not about to run away again, not before they had time to talk.  
  
And then his mind turned, with energy that filled it like a skylark’s song filling the air, to the new facet of the bond that had revealed itself to him.   
  
_To have Potter close is desirable, as the emotions are stronger then. And if guilt feels this good, one must wonder what pleasure would feel like. Joy.  
  
The body’s desire. _  
  
Severus let a small smile curve his mouth, though the amusement was partially turned against himself. He suspected he would regard the prospect with more horror later, when he had got used to the emotions and was somewhat in his right mind.  
  
For the moment, however, his major thought was, _Draco will not like this at all._   
  
*  
  
Draco wasn’t stupid. The pain eating him alive had faded the moment the bond opened again. And now that he could hear Potter climbing the stairs towards his room, he had the temptation to simply lie back on the bed and swim in the flashes of blue-black lightning and ghostly landscapes that Potter opened in his mind.  
  
But that was no reason to make it _easy_ for him.  
  
When the door opened, he was in the perfect position to raise a brow and say acidly, “Finally figured out that running away wasn’t the best thing you could have done?”  
  
Potter snarled at him, and his anger wheeled in a moment—Draco had a vision of an eagle—to strike out at a perceived enemy instead of against himself. It was a whole new set of sensations. Draco gasped, his hips snapping forwards once. He wanted so badly to thrust, or even better to grab Potter by the shoulders and drag him close, embrace him, run his fingers up to the skin behind his ears so he could feel vicariously what it would be like when Potter squirmed—  
  
He froze. _What am I thinking?_   
  
Potter didn’t seem to have noticed anything wrong, maybe because he hadn’t opened the bond back the other way so he could feel Draco’s emotions. His face twisted, and he snapped, “I’m _sorry_ , Malfoy, but I didn’t fucking _know_!”  
  
Draco caught his breath and swallowed as Potter moved a few steps closer. _Who would have thought a short distance could make that much difference_? And his traitorous body again squirmed with the thought of what would happen should Potter’s skin rest against his. Draco had thought a vivid imagination a bad trait when he had to torture people at the Dark Lord’s command, but it appeared it was even better for torturing himself.  
  
“And ignorance is always a good excuse for almost killing people,” he said, but he missed the bright tone that would have made that one of his better efforts. His voice ended up sounding full of this disgusting _longing_ instead.  
  
Potter eyed him in silence for long moments, his arms folded. His anger turned back again, like a lightning bolt stabbing his forehead for the crime of losing the scar. Then his face crumpled, and his shoulders heaved, and for a horrified moment Draco thought he would witness Harry Potter’s _tears_.   
  
It made him uncomfortable, how eager part of him was to see that.  
  
 _Stupid bloody bond_ , he thought, and shifted, though not hard enough to make Potter look up—he hoped.  
  
But then Potter jerked his head up and spoke in a flat voice, his eyes fastened on the wall beyond Draco’s head. “Yes, it’s a stupid excuse. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. Clearly the bond is more complicated than I thought it was, and my plans to stay away but still give you the benefits of the bond aren’t going to work.”  
  
“You _can’t_ stay away,” Draco said. “Are you mad?” He should have said something stronger, he knew, something to sting, but he couldn’t. Maybe because he knew that behind Potter’s supposedly emotionless eyes and voice was a surging, leaping sea of panic and pain and self-loathing that felt familiar. Draco had tasted it in the hospital wing. Apparently Potter spent most of his time awake hating himself, at least at a low level of his thoughts.  
  
Potter glared at him, and there was pain behind his eyes and there was anger, and they fought so fiercely that Draco saw them both as clashing waves of the same height and couldn’t tell which would win. “You don’t like me,” he said. “I’m willing to stay here to save your lives, but you can’t blame me for trying to keep out of your way as much as possible. I thought, maybe a Homunculus—”  
  
“You’re so generous to us,” Draco said, flopping back on his bed and turning his head away as if he had nothing better to look at. He yawned delicately. “Or do you extend your bounty like this to every person you nearly slaughter?”  
  
“And this is exactly why I don’t want to stay here!” Potter yelled. The anger won out over the pain, and Draco saw the eagle again. He shivered. “Because you’ll insult me and never forgive me, and it might be comfortable for _you_ , but it sure as fuck won’t be for _me_! People keep telling me how important life-debts are, but it seems that the person who owes them is entitled to all the consideration, and sod what that consideration costs the person it’s owed to!” He turned around and punched his fist into the wall.  
  
Draco jumped and gasped at the flash of pain that tore through his body, not so much because it hurt as because of the intensity. Meanwhile, Potter made a disgusted sound and sat down on the chair Draco had placed near the door. Draco glanced at him and saw him running his hands wildly through his hair, tearing at individual strands, making it stand on end even more than before.  
  
Draco hadn’t known that was physically _possible._   
  
“You nearly killed us,” Draco said, and tried to keep his voice even and failed miserably. He’d never known how volatile Potter was. His emotions shifted every second, and it would take Draco a lot of time to adjust to them, like adjusting to being on a ship while it was pitching around during a storm. “That’ll take a while to forgive.”  
  
“A _while_?” Potter looked up and snorted, and the anger rolled back again, drenching Draco in stabs of hot and cold. “I’m not stupid, Malfoy. I know you won’t ever forgive me. You’ll just wait until I’ve almost forgotten about it, and then mention it to make me feel guilty again.”  
  
Draco sneered. “You’re stupid if you think that the only emotion we want to feel from you is guilt.”  
  
“You might think you can cause something else, but you can’t.” Potter sounded exhausted now, and the image Draco received was of a flat grey plain, covered with ashes. “Maybe you’ll even try to, but you won’t succeed. I’m going to be uncomfortable for the rest of my life.” And there was the hiss and crackle of self-loathing again, as if Potter knew he sounded like a miserable whiner when he said those words and hated himself for saying them.  
  
“You’re giving up before we’ve even properly started,” Draco said. “Before we’ve tried living together an hour, right after a shock that gives us every right to be angry at you. Are you always this into fatalism, Potter? I’m astounded that you lasted as long as you did against the Dark Lord.”  
  
Potter glared at him again, but the anger was less than it had been, or else Draco was getting used to it.  
  
“His name was _Voldemort_ ,” Potter said. “You might try mouthing it.”  
  
Draco shook his head. He had some balance now, and some understanding, and Potter wasn’t about to distract him. “That isn’t important right now,” he said. “Reconciling you to the inevitable is.”  
  
“I’m reconciled,” Potter said harshly. “You need me to live with you. You need me to share my emotions with you. Those two things together will destroy my privacy. And then Snape said something about sharing magical power. That’ll probably render me weaker than I was. I’ll do it, because I’m the one who started these bonds in the first place, but I’m not going to enjoy it. You can’t expect a prisoner to enjoy his prison.” He stood up and turned to walk out of the room.  
  
Draco felt well enough to wave his wand and lock the door. Potter whirled around, his anger leaping through the bond again. This time, Draco envisioned it as a beast rather like a red kangaroo with long, drooping claws.  
  
“Listen to me, Potter,” Draco said, and then cast a Silencing Charm when Potter tried to speak anyway. The look of outrage on Potter’s face was priceless, though Draco liked the slide of honey-sweetness through the center of his chest even more. “If you’re determined to make this intolerable for yourself, of course it will be. But surely you see that it doesn’t _have_ to be? We can teach you things. We can make this house as comfortable as the little flat you’re probably living in now, and less crowded than the Weasleys’.” It was an effort to force himself to say the proper last name instead of “Weasels,” but the whole point right now was _not_ offending Potter. “And there’s no reason sharing magical power has to make you weaker. If anything, it gives you a reservoir to draw on if you’re in danger. And I think you’ll be in danger fairly often, if you’re training to be an Auror.” He hesitated, then canceled the Silencing Charm.  
  
“None of that makes up for the loss of mental privacy,” Potter said. His eyes were a little wild. “I have enough people spying on me already—reporters, fans, rogue Death Eaters. And now I have to have two of the people who’ve always hated me in my _head_ all the time.”  
  
Draco shrugged. “I don’t see what you’re objecting to. You can do the same thing to us. At least it’s equal.” He had to swallow bitterness, then, as he remembered a condition of the bond. “Or even tilted in your favor, because you’re the one who can shut the conduits down and reopen them at will.”  
  
Potter’s incredulity tasted like blue lightning. “Do you think I’d do that again, when I know that you need the conduits open to survive?”  
  
 _At least we can count on his stupid heroism, once it’s aroused_ , Draco thought smugly. “You can still open them further,” he said. “You’ll feel our emotions the same way we can feel yours.”  
  
“No.” Potter folded his arms and looked away. The phoenixes on his arms had a slight shine to them still. Draco wondered how they must have blazed when Potter was receiving the warning that Draco and Severus were dying, or whatever had really summoned him.   
  
“Why _not_?” Draco held onto his temper with an effort. He was the one offering all the options, and Potter was rejecting them, like an idiot.  
  
 _But then, he’s Potter. Of course he’s an idiot.  
  
On the other hand, since we depend on him to survive now, we’ll have to teach him to be less of one._   
  
“I’m not going to invade your privacy just because you invaded mine,” Potter said bluntly. His mind roared and surged and leaped again, and Draco was glad that he didn’t live inside Potter’s skull. Absorbing those feelings secondhand was tiresome enough.  
  
Draco immediately thought of three ways he could take advantage of Potter’s moral goodness, but he attempted to suppress his thoughts and focus on the immediate problem. “All right,” he said. “No one can force you to. But you should know that, as long as you’re with us and willing to spend the money, we can buy a more comfortable house. And our paths don’t have to cross all the time. Just enough to keep us healthy.”  
  
Potter eyed him, his emotions swinging back into a quiet sea. Draco wondered if there was a sun shining on it, too, and fought the urge to giggle. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day, Malfoy.” He took a breath and shifted closer to the bed. “I had another idea, too. If I fight for your names to be cleared completely, then you can take your own jobs and have more choices. And then you won’t have to spend as much time contemplating the bond and nothing but the bond.”  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. That last thing seemed like an odd consequence for Potter to hope would come out of their increased freedom and time outside the house. _Of course, he’s seeing all this time in terms of himself, which is natural for someone as selfish as he is. I shouldn’t be surprised._   
  
“We’ll have to talk to Severus about this,” he said, and stood. It was the first time in days that he had moved somewhere with a purpose, he thought absently as he stepped past Potter and opened the door. The increasing closeness of the other boy made him shudder and struggle to keep his expression blank. Suddenly the emotions seemed to flood him completely instead of staying in a separate bundle at the back of his head. “Sit down as—” He hesitated. “Well, sit down all together and talk about this.”  
  
Potter nodded. Maybe he thought his face was tightly controlled, but Draco had access to the soft, subtle rub of hope, like sheer silk, behind it. “Yes, all right. Surely we can settle on _something_ that will keep us away from each other as much as possible.”  
  
 _And you are still focused on that_ , Draco thought, shaking his head in slight disgust. If he felt better the closer he was to Potter, Severus would feel the same. Draco couldn’t see him agreeing to a schedule that would keep them in different parts of the house or awake at different hours.  
  
“Surely,” was all he said aloud, and then he followed Potter out the door, noting absently that he had grown a little more certain of himself since Draco saw him last. He had a purposeful stride that made his Auror trainee’s robes swish about him, anyway.  
  
*  
  
“A Homunculus Charm will not work,” Snape said, with the kind of flat tone that Harry had dreaded when he was still a student serving detentions. He reminded himself that he was no longer a child, and forced himself to meet Snape’s eyes evenly. “We need your physical presence. Among other things, the impact of the emotions lessens when you are further away, and I doubt that you want to test the bond with distance right now.”  
  
Harry shuddered. “No.” The memory of Malfoy’s scream was still with him.  
  
 _He_ had caused that. He would have to remember that, and keep it in mind when he was tempted to break away from all the demands Snape and Malfoy were heaping on him.  
  
But, at the same time, he felt a wild resentment that he would have to give up so much he’d counted on having. Privacy, space, quiet. A set of rooms that for the first time in his life he didn’t have to share with anyone. A bed he could make love to Ginny on.   
  
Snape grimaced, and Harry abruptly remembered that they could read his memories, if not his thoughts. He cleared his throat and tried to push on despite his flaming cheeks and Malfoy’s snickers. “All right. How many hours would I have to spend with you every day, then? Auror training is demanding. I can’t be here all the time.”  
  
“I understand that,” Snape said calmly. Malfoy was sitting straight up and giving Harry an offended look that said _he_ didn’t. Harry rolled his eyes at him, and Malfoy promptly looked away and snapped his mouth shut. He seemed determined to prove that he could be more mature than Harry if it killed him. At least it made him a touch more pleasant to be around. “The nights and one hour each during the morning and evening should be sufficient, I believe.”  
  
Harry relaxed minutely. That was far more tolerable than the imprisonment he’d envisioned, stewing in his room whilst Snape and Draco did their self-contained activities, never able to go outside without one of them complaining at him.  
  
 _See? You_ can _work this out_ , Hermione would probably say. _This isn’t going to be the end of your life._   
  
And Harry now felt a little silly thinking it would have been. He still didn’t like them in his head and his space, but with his being at Auror training most of the day and Snape and Malfoy busy with their own pursuits, at least the time they’d have to annoy each other would be limited.  
  
“I’m sorry I reacted the way he did.” Harry rushed through the apology so he could say he’d done it and moved on to something more important. “And the magic sharing? I don’t know how we’re going to accomplish that.”  
  
“We could force the bonds open all the way,” Malfoy suggested, with an eagerness in his voice that made Harry certain that would hurt. The sadistic little git was probably looking forward to his pain.  
  
“In a traditional bond, so we could.” Snape leaned forwards, and Harry thought his words were meant at least as much for Malfoy as for Harry. “But this bond is unlike normal ones in many different ways. Among other things, the tendency to hunger means that we must be sure we do not simply _consume_ Mr. Potter’s magic.”  
  
“Yeah, I’d like that, thanks,” Harry said tersely. Snape had explained about the Horcrux in him—and wasn’t _that_ something he would have liked to have known about before now—giving them a hunger for his emotions. “I’d like not to end up a Squib.”  
  
Malfoy gave him a superior look. Harry didn’t know what about. He rolled his eyes again and focused on Snape. Incredible as it seemed, he was being more tolerable about this than Malfoy was. “So what do we do?”  
  
“There are potions that could help us,” Snape said meditatively, “but their effect is temporary. I would not want to renew the dose every few days, as it would mean I would brew nothing else.” Harry experienced a small throb of satisfaction at that. Snape showed some inclination to focus on things besides Harry, then, which would make it easier to keep him at a distance. “An anchored spell would make more sense.”  
  
“Anchored spell?” Harry said, when both of the other two stayed silent. Malfoy looked as baffled as he was, but he was too cowardly to admit his ignorance, so Harry would.   
  
“A spell embedded in something and meant to be permanent,” Snape answered, “such as the magic that guarded the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes or the spells on the Sword of Gryffindor. Technically, those are called artifact enchantments, whilst the ones on human bodies are anchored spells, but that is a pedant’s distinction without merit.” He continued whilst Harry was still choking over the idea of Snape _rejecting_ a pedant’s distinction. “In this case, more than one thing makes me believe that an anchored spell would be best. They usually require an addition to the body to function, such as a wound.” He held up his left arm, where the phoenix shone. “We have powerful magical symbols on us already.”  
  
Harry stared down at his own entwining of phoenix parts and nodded. “All right. But I have one more question.”  
  
“Only one?” Malfoy taunted. “You’re slowing down.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but he was behind Snape, who gave Malfoy a glance of cold disdain and said, “We should work together if we wish to do more than survive, Draco.”  
  
It was worth not completely understanding Snape’s words—of course they should be working together if they wanted to just survive, let alone do anything more—to watch the way Malfoy flushed and dropped his eyes. Harry cleared his throat to draw attention back to himself. “What happens if two or all of us are trying to draw on each other’s magic at the same time? If I’m in danger and reach for the power to cast a hard curse when you’re brewing, for example? Would that cause a problem? I don’t want to do anything that will let people down when I’m an Auror or make it _more_ dangerous for them to be around me.”  
  
Snape examined him in a silent, judging way for a while, which made Harry wonder what hidden mistakes his words contained. But Snape nodded. “The spell I intend to use can sense more urgent need. If you could possibly lose your life, the magic would circulate to you, as opposed to remaining for my potions project.”  
  
Harry nodded and searched his mind for another objection, but couldn’t find anything. And he was going to try to live with this. He had promised. He rose to his feet. “Let’s do this, then.”  
  
“You must cast the spell, as the one who forged and wields the bonds,” Snape murmured. He moved towards Harry, halting a few inches away. “I will teach you the incantation and the wand movements. Lift your wand.”  
  
Harry did. Snape went on staring at him, eye to eye. Harry wondered if he was using Legilimency, and then decided it didn’t matter. The bonds granted him a more intimate access into Harry’s mind than Legilimency ever could, and that access was permanent.  
  
Harry shut his eyes for a moment and shuddered.  
  
“You are deeply distressed at the thought of sharing yourself with someone.” Snape’s voice was slow and deep. His fingers landed on top of Harry’s, trailing up his wrist to the fingertips. “Why is that?”  
  
“I don’t like it,” Harry said shortly. Snape’s eyebrow went up as though he could sense some other answer behind the one Harry had actually given him. Harry ignored that. The short words he’d spoken would do for Snape. “Now, what is the spell?”  
  
“ _Communico veneficium usque_ ,” Snape breathed. He was close enough now that Harry could _smell_ that breath. He shuddered a little. He had always assumed that Snape would stink of dead and rotting things, but instead it was as if he’d been chewing a few of the more pleasant-smelling leaves he used in his potions.  
  
And then Snape’s fingers slid over his hand again, and Harry took a step back. Snape didn’t need to stand _quite_ so close, and he’d said nothing about the bond requiring physical contact, instead of just Harry staying in the same house with them, so he didn’t see any reason to offer it.  
  
“ _Communico veneficium usque_ ,” he said, doing his best to imitate Snape’s cadence and pronunciation.   
  
Then he gasped. A shivery warm sensation spread through the phoenix marks on his arms, nothing like the burning that had told him Snape and Malfoy were in danger. It felt as if he were submerging his arms in the Prefects’ Bath. Harry shuddered and bent at the waist, trying not to show weakness, trying to grimace so that they would take the expression on his face for pain, and perfectly aware that they could read his emotions all the same, and probably his physical sensations.  
  
Malfoy gasped, too. Harry looked at him and saw him writhing on the sofa as he’d writhed in the bedroom upstairs. Harry swallowed and looked away queasily, only to catch Snape’s eye. His expression was a rictus, lips pulled back from the teeth in what could have been a snarl or a smile. He didn’t seem to know how to deal with what he was feeling.   
  
Fountains of golden light rose from all three of their phoenix marks and then settled back into the bodies. Harry felt heavy, as if he’d eaten a large meal. He raised his wand without thinking about it and murmured, “ _Lumos._ ”  
  
The burst of light that tore through the room nearly blinded him. Malfoy cried out and said something about “ _warning_ someone, you imbecile.” Snape, on the other hand, simply moved nearer and closed his fingers into a ring around Harry’s wrist.  
  
“I believe it works,” he whispered.  
  
Harry shuddered again, this time because Snape’s breath brushed his ear. He was good and sensitive there, as Ginny had already discovered. He stepped back again, pulling free of Snape’s grasp. Snape let him go slowly, opening the ring of his fingers so that his nails brushed Harry’s skin on the way off. Harry glared at him in puzzlement. He would almost accuse Snape of touching him like a lover, except that that was, well, ridiculous. Why in the world would Snape _want_ to do that? He would have mentioned it if they had to—to touch or something.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry said, and damped the _Lumos_. “Well. Good.” He looked at Snape. “I’m going to go back to the Ministry and talk to the Minister now, if he’ll see me. I want to get your names cleared so we can buy a house and go around in public more easily.”  
  
“That would be welcome, of course,” Snape said, in a careful voice that Harry didn’t understand. “There are many potions ingredients I find it difficult or impossible to obtain whilst I am still under suspicion like this.”  
  
“Yeah, and it’s not fair to either of you.” Harry nodded quickly to Malfoy, making sure that he didn’t make eye contact with the git. He would probably be smirking, enjoying Harry’s embarrassment from Snape’s touch. “I wouldn’t feel right about being the only one who can leave the house on a regular basis.”  
  
“A sense of fairness,” Snape said, and then cut himself off as though the half-sentence made sense, gazing at Harry in an expectant manner.  
  
Harry coughed, cleared his throat, and then said, “Well, see you tomorrow,” and turned and walked out of the house, the wards parting easily to let him out.  
  
He breathed more easily in the clear air of Spinner’s End. Yes, it was dirty from the town’s factories, but at least he wasn’t around Snape and Malfoy.   
  
He sighed and shook his head, thinking of the many things he had to do: speak to the Minister about clearing Snape and Malfoy’s names, ask Hermione about the magical theory behind the bond, reassure Ginny that she wouldn’t be less important to him even though they were living apart, and begin setting up the barriers that would ensure Snape and Malfoy never got any closer to him than they needed to. That would probably involve learning something about potions and something about the Quidditch openings around Britain, so that he would sound informed about things they liked to do and better able to persuade them to do it.   
  
_Hermione’ll probably ask me why I’m so adamant on staying away from them.  
  
And I know the answer. To make my own life more tolerable. I don’t care how necessary it is; I’m not going to live with people who insult me all the time and do everything they can to make me feel miserable. The Dursleys were bad enough. A hostile Snape and Malfoy would be a nightmare. I’ll inspire them to do other things, be as polite as I can around them, and show that I’m just—a thing in their lives. After a while, when they get used to treating my emotions and the shared magic as part of the background, it should get easier._  
  
Harry relaxed and nodded to himself. Yes, all right, he could do this. He couldn’t avoid it, so he would endure it. As Snape said, he would work out how they could all survive.  
  
And he would _live_ in the hours he spent away from the house, the times when he was around his friends and the Weasleys and Ginny and the Auror instructors.  
  
Feeling considerably more hopeful than he had when he arrived, Harry Apparated.  
  
*  
  
“I saw that.” Draco was incredulous, folding his arms and vibrating with energy instead of leaning languidly on the walls as he had before Potter came. “The way you were _touching_ him. What was that all about?”  
  
Severus watched him in thoughtful silence. Revealing the truth now might frighten and infuriate Draco, but if he figured it out on his own, then he would distrust Severus more than he currently did.  
  
And Severus did not want that. To do more than merely sustain the bond, to live through it and exploit it to its proper potential, every single relationship between the three of them had to be strong. He would not seduce Draco as openly as he would seduce Potter, who would probably not be able to name his motions _seduction_ until some considerable time had passed, but he would still do it.  
  
 _And the first step in overcoming Draco’s distrust and my own distaste for the thought of sleeping with a child is to treat him as an adult._   
  
“You cannot have failed to consider what would happen should Potter feel pleasure, and we feel that with him,” he said, flattering Draco’s intelligence and speaking the truth at the same time.  
  
Draco’s eyelashes fluttered. Severus suspected he was imagining how good he would feel if that happened, and trying to prevent himself from having a physical reaction.  
  
“I—yes,” he said. His voice had dropped into a huskiness that Severus found far more attractive than anything he had ever noticed about Draco, in part because he was now encouraging himself to find things about Draco and Potter attractive. “But he has a girlfriend. What makes you think that he’ll consent to sleep with the two of us, and men besides?” His voice was muffled at the end, and he turned away.  
  
Severus smiled faintly. He could feel Potter’s determination surging through him like surf. Perhaps that made his own perceptions keener, but he knew what Draco’s last statement meant. He hated the thought of being bested by anyone else, especially a Weasley.  
  
 _And I suspect he will not need much encouragement to be jealous over Potter._   
  
“Because we can offer him more than others can,” Severus said simply, “thanks to the bond. We must simply prove that.” He paused, but Draco kept looking away and didn’t react, so he had to add, “You can start by being more pleasant to him.”  
  
“He wouldn’t believe in it,” Draco muttered.  
  
“Potter has an immense—an almost silly—capacity for forgiveness,” Severus said. “No, he will not believe it at first, but he will if it is repeated often enough. And being pleasant to him will become natural to you, too, if you repeat it often enough.” He paused, then continued, a bit more sharply, “Unless you think you’re simply constitutionally incapable of it, and that I alone should sleep with him—”  
  
“No!” Draco whipped around, his fists clenched. “If we’re going to do this, then I’m in it as an _equa_ l partner.”  
  
 _And there is the man I was looking for_. That flare in Draco’s eyes was not simply the mulish stubbornness that still drove Potter, but the will of a committed adult. Severus nodded to him with a faint smile. “Very well. Then, when he next returns, be pleasant to him and see what happens.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth to protest, then swallowed. At least he saw when he had been trapped, and had the graciousness not to protest. “All right.” He paused, then continued in a yearning voice. “Do you think he can really get our names cleared?”  
  
“It may take time, but yes, I do.” Severus allowed himself a moment’s smugness then. If he had to be marked again, and bonded forcibly—and accidentally—into an arrangement where he needed another’s emotions simply to survive, then he could have had much worse partners than the Chosen One, with all his power and fame behind him.  
  
Potter would never use that fame in ways that he morally disapproved of. But Severus believed they would become close enough over time that neither Severus nor Draco would need him to.  
  
A vision was in his mind, the way it often was when he worked on a potion for the first time and envisioned the completed product. He saw the situation as it was at the moment, and the situation as it would be, when they were comfortable, settled in their bonds, and joined in all the ways that could bring all _three_ of them the most pleasure and profit.   
  
It was the first vision of happiness that he remembered having which had some chance of lasting. Severus intended to hold onto it.


	4. Chapter 4

  
“Harry. Come in.” Kingsley sounded worn-out, but his smile was still warm as he leaned back in his chair and spelled the office door shut. “I assume that whatever you need to talk to me about is strictly confidential?” Another wand movement, and two bottles of Firewhisky soared out of a hidden cabinet in the wall that Harry thought Scrimgeour would have been absolutely amazed to know about.  
  
Harry accepted one of the bottles, gave Kingsley a small smile, and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. “Yes, actually,” he said. “I came to talk to you about clearing Snape and Malfoy’s names further. Draco Malfoy,” he added quickly. So far as Harry was concerned, Lucius deserved everything he got.  
  
Kingsley opened his bottle and sipped at the liquid inside without saying anything for long moments. Then he said, “The evidence that cleared them is incontrovertible, but also complicated, and it requires a long time to view. The Wizengamot _hates_ that kind of evidence. They much prefer a touching story. Politically, I think that I’ve done about everything I can do for them.”  
  
Harry opened his own bottle so that he wouldn’t seem rude, but held it away from his lips instead of drinking. “But you could issue a full pardon,” he said quietly. “I know it wouldn’t make everyone leave them alone, but it would give them legal freedom to travel around and hold any job they could find, with anyone who would hire them.”  
  
Kingsley gave him a wry look. “I told some of the Wizengamot they would rue it when your friend Hermione started studying law. They didn’t believe me.”  
  
Harry didn’t smile back. “I’m not doing this at Hermione’s instigation,” he said. “It’s for me. Well, for them, technically, but she still didn’t put me up to it.”  
  
“That does change things,” Kingsley said, though he didn’t say why. “And why do you want them pardoned so badly? Four months ago, the house arrest the Wizengamot put them under was enough for you.”  
  
Harry winced. He had known this would come up sooner or later, and he didn’t think he could put off revealing it to at least a few people, especially since he would need to spend time in the same house with Snape and Malfoy. Besides, he thought he could trust Kingsley not to talk. He pulled up his robe sleeves and showed the phoenixes.  
  
Kingsley leaned forwards to look at them, his eyebrows going up. “So that’s what Skeeter meant when she said that you defeated You-Know-Who with ‘ancient magic,’” he murmured.  
  
“She doesn’t actually know anything about it,” Harry said. He _knew_ Skeeter didn’t, even from spying in her beetle form, or she would have made her story much more detailed. Instead, she’d concocted sentence after sentence stretching the concept of “ancient magic” as far as it would go. “But yeah. I saw Voldemort about to kill Snape and Malfoy. I willed them to live. These—” he rubbed his hands over the intertwined birds, and wondered if it was his imagination that they felt a bit warmer than before “—are the signs of the magic that did it, and killed Voldemort, too. They created bonds between me and Snape and Malfoy.”  
  
Kingsley narrowed his eyes. “I see,” he said, voice unusually precise. “And are they blackmailing you by threatening to reveal this bond?”  
  
Harry blinked, caught off-guard. “What? No!”  
  
“Can they cause you physical pain if you don’t do what they wish?” Kingsley was looking at the phoenixes as Harry had never seen anyone look at them, as if by themselves the marks were a brand of evil like the Dark Mark.  
  
 _Snape and Malfoy’s marks_ were _the Dark Mark, and you looked at them like that at first, too_. Harry took a deep breath and focused on an image that Ledbetter had taught him, an iron spiral which dissolved slowly into fiery particles. It helped to keep him calm by forcing his brain to pay attention to a complex image for a few seconds, until he felt ready to return to the conversation. “No. I’m the one in control of the bond, actually, and I can cause _them_ pain if I want to.” Kingsley simply looked at him and waited for him to go on, so Harry elaborated with a sigh. “The marks seemed to have a side-effect, or maybe that’s the bond itself, where they spend too much time thinking about me. To _keep_ them from blackmailing me or threatening me in the future, I want to get them interested in other things. Brewing potions. Quidditch. That kind of thing.” Harry spread his hands. “But they can’t do that if they can’t go outside the house safely.”  
  
“Well.” Kingsley’s voice had deepened, and he nodded twice before he folded his hands in front of him. “Yes. I think I see the strategic advantage it would mean if you could be protected from the manipulations of two individuals who have a unique closeness to you and none of your best friends’ loyalty.”  
  
Harry relaxed. Though Kingsley’s interpretation was more political than his, they agreed on the same thing, and it was good to know he’d have some support. “Then you’ll do it?”  
  
“As long as you give me your word that you’ll consider other restrictions on their movements if the time comes that they’re doing something wrong with this increased freedom, and we have evidence of it.” Kingsley put up a hand when Harry opened his mouth. “And as long as you set up certain barriers against them. I know that Severus Snape is a hero, in some respects, but he’s too often willing to let the ends justify the means. And Malfoy may yet follow in his father’s footsteps. He’s an unknown factor. I want to see a sample of his independent decisions before I make a final judgment on him. I don’t want either of them in control of someone I fully expect to become one of my best Aurors, Harry. Am I clear?”  
  
Harry flushed with pleasure. It was the first indication that he had of Kingsley approving his abilities personally, instead of just as someone who had to be treated with respect because he’d won the war. He stood up, holding Kingsley’s eyes. “I can promise, sir,” he said, “I don’t want anyone to ever control me again. I’ll fight them if they try.”  
  
Kingsley nodded, a faint smile on his face. “Good. Then I’ll arrange the pardons. It’s still a large load of legal paperwork at a time when we’re held down by the paperwork from the Death Eater trials—”  
  
“I wouldn’t expect it tomorrow, Minister,” Harry said quickly. The last thing he wanted to create was the impression that he was demanding, or that he expected impossible things to be done for him just because he was the “Chosen One.”  
  
“But you do need them soon,” Kingsley said calmly, “for understandable reasons. All right. A week should be the most I need.” He held out his hand. “Being bonded to one person, let alone two other people, is an immense responsibility I wouldn’t wish even on Snape. But I do trust you, Harry.”  
  
Harry shook his hand hard, and tried to ignore the nagging doubt that the only reason Kingsley trusted him was because he’d been lucky enough to kill Voldemort with accidental magic he barely understood. If he listened to doubts like that the whole time, then he might as well start listening to Snape and Malfoy right now.   
  
*  
  
“Potter! A word.”  
  
Draco practically had to sprint down the stairs to catch Potter, who was stepping out the front door of Spinner’s End as though it was his mission that morning to personally conquer the Ministry. Potter turned around, his face set and his arms folded. He couldn’t have presented a less welcoming front to Draco if he was purposely imitating Mad-Eye Moody.  
  
Draco jerked himself to a stop at the foot of the steps and tried his best to smile at Potter instead of scowl at him. So far, he hadn’t got a chance to try Severus’s advice about being more pleasant because Potter was never fucking _around_. He got up early for breakfast, which was his promised hour in the house in the morning, went to Auror training all day, ate dinner with his friends, and then came back for an hour in the evening before he went to bed. He’d made his own set of rooms with a wizardspace addition to the house, and never entered the same room Draco was in if he could help it.   
  
It was probably enough for the bond, since neither Draco nor Severus had collapsed with convulsions in the week Potter had been doing that. But neither did it _further_ the bond, and Draco could see the frustration in the whiteness around Severus’s lips whenever he happened to glimpse the phoenix mark on his arm.  
  
In the interests of not having Severus explode at Potter in a flurry of insults that would push their agenda back further than anything Draco could do, Draco would do what he could. So, now, he pushed a friendly fake smile onto his face and said, “I never see you around here. I thought you were going to spend more time with us.”  
  
Potter blinked. “I am.”  
  
Draco found his hands clenching into fists, and quickly opened them and stuck them behind his back, hoping that Potter hadn’t noticed. “Time talking to us,” he said. “Time getting to know us. What you’re doing now isn’t that.”  
  
“No, it isn’t.” Potter leaned one shoulder on the front door and squinted at Draco thoughtfully. Draco wanted to comment on the fact that his glasses made Potter look like an owl. He manfully resisted the urge. “I don’t really want to do that. It’s enough that you have access to my emotions—”  
  
Draco started. He had, in fact, forgotten about that. Most of the time, Potter’s emotions, now that he was used to them, were a soft dull hum in the back of his mind, and it took effort to concentrate and bring up the images they had given him when they were new. He did it now, and saw Potter’s calm, unyielding determination as a wall of steel.  
  
“—But I understand that you have to have that to survive. It would be like denying someone food they needed just because you didn’t like the smell.” Potter ran his tongue along his teeth. “But that doesn’t mean I willingly have to give you anything else.”  
  
Draco hissed under his breath. “And you think that’s the way to become comfortable with us? To live like—like friends?” He couldn’t yet bring up Severus’s contention that they would need to make Potter their lover, even if it would make excellent taunting material. “By rushing away from us as soon as you can and telling us flatly you’ll refuse us anything more than the basic necessities?”  
  
Unexpectedly, Potter laughed. “And what would you do if _I_ had to have access to _your_ emotions to survive, Malfoy? Would you really want to spend any more time around me than you could help?”  
  
Draco opened his mouth, then shut it. The simple truth was that, no, he wouldn’t. Especially because Potter would probably take any chance he saw him to try out new taunts, and the taunts would be worse than ever because he’d have accurate information from feeling Draco’s emotions.  
  
“Exactly,” Potter said. “I’m trying to make things more comfortable for all of us, and it’s more comfortable for me not to be around you.”  
  
“That sounds rude,” was the most Draco could come up with. He was thinking now of what would happen if Potter should open the bonds the other way and learn about his and Severus’s emotions, and he didn’t like it at all, even though it had seemed so reasonable only a week ago when they were first talking about it. He scowled at his left arm. _I think this phoenix mark is messing with my head._   
  
Potter shrugged. “I don’t really care.” His face brightened and turned mischievous, the way Draco had seen it right before he tried a dive in Quidditch. The vision in Draco’s head was of a brilliant scarlet-robed Quidditch player, in fact, and he tried not to shiver as the happiness ran through his body. Yes, that was pleasant for more reasons than its intensity, and he would give a lot to make Potter experience it on a regular basis. “Besides, I’ll have some news that will make _you_ more comfortable tonight, too.”  
  
“What?” Draco demanded, shuffling closer. “Severus hasn’t said anything.”  
  
“It’s really strange how you call him by his first name, you know,” Potter complained, and then rushed on before Draco could say anything indignant about sharing the same cell together. “No, I decided to tell you first. I thought you should get to have a secret from _him_ once in a while.”  
  
“What makes you think he has secrets from me?”   
  
“The way he’s always brewing in the lab, with the door closed?” Potter tossed his head in the direction of Severus’s lab, hard enough to make the fringe fly off his forehead. The door was, Draco had to admit, closed at the moment. “Don’t tell me that doesn’t make you _wonder_.” His grin was pure slyness, pure Hogwarts, and Draco found himself smiling back before he could comprehend what he was doing.  
  
He tried to stop at once, but Potter continued blithely, “You’ll have a pardon today. Or maybe tomorrow, knowing the way the Ministry works. A full legal pardon. You won’t be under house arrest anymore.” He grinned even more widely at Draco.  
  
“A _pardon_?” Draco blurted, and he knew he sounded absolutely shocked and gauche, and he couldn’t do anything about that either.  
  
Potter nodded. “Thought you might like to know,” he said, and tapped Draco on the shoulder with a closed fist before he looked at his watch, muttered, “Ledbetter will _rip my head off_ ,” and ducked out the door.  
  
Draco stood there, blinking. He wasn’t sure what was more wondrous: the fact of the pardon—  
  
Or the fact that Potter had wanted to share a secret with him before he shared it with Severus, and touched him in a friendly manner.  
  
 _That was nice, whether or not he meant it to be._  
  
*  
  
Severus had had enough of Potter’s cowardly behavior. It was almost a fortnight since they had made the agreement to live together, a week since the pardon, and Potter still ate his breakfast and dashed out of the house as if his arse were on fire. Then, when he came home at night, he stayed in his own rooms, the doors locked, until he slept. Sometimes, if they pushed especially hard, Severus or Draco would be favored with a single irritated look.  
  
Potter no doubt considered he was keeping his end of the bargain. But it did not lend itself to his easy seduction, and so Severus held a different viewpoint.   
  
He went that evening to the polished wooden door that marked the entrance to Potter’s wizardspace, and knocked. In one hand he held a single bottle of the elf-wine that had been James Potter’s favorite. If he could not gain entrance to Potter’s sympathy through appeals to the natural Gryffindor sense of fairness, Severus was not above bribery.  
  
The door opened on the sixth knock, and Potter stuck his head out. His hair was matted flat along the side of his head, and his eyes held a particular glazed look that Severus was familiar with, having seen plenty of his students fall asleep over their homework in his time. He steeled himself against the temptation to think of Potter as a child. He was not, and neither was Draco, not after the horrors they had witnessed. They were more than of age in the wizarding world, both eighteen, and Potter was training for a career that involved battling Dark wizards. Draco showed flashes of maturity almost daily now.   
  
Severus would not allow the frustration he could feel through the bond, rushing and boiling like a Pepper-Up Potion, to discourage him, either. He solemnly held out the bottle of wine.  
  
“I’m too busy to drink right now,” Potter said dismissively, and started to shut the door.  
  
Severus snarled before he could stop himself. He’d intended to maintain a pleasant demeanor with Potter all evening, but that would not work if Potter refused to be the least bit pleasant to _him_. “I was considering conversation among the possibilities,” he said. “But, of course, if you are too busy to learn more of one of the people you will spend the rest of your life tied to…” He shrugged and turned away, trying furiously to control his own bitterness.  
  
“No. Wait.”  
  
Potter’s frustration had subsided into the tingling chill that Severus recognized as his uncertainty. He turned back and waited.  
  
Potter ran a hand through his hair, looked down the corridor as if a clock hung there that he intended to count the hours on, and gnawed his lip. Then he nodded decisively and swung the door open further. “Come on in,” he said.  
  
Severus kept his face neutral as he stepped across the threshold. He had not expected an invitation to Potter’s rooms tonight. At best, he had hoped Potter would condescend to join him in Severus’s own library or study.  
  
“I’m sorry it’s a mess,” Potter said, pushing ineffectually at the stack of papers on top of one desk. The room had three desks altogether, several shelves loaded with books and more papers, and two hard wooden chairs; Severus surreptitiously drew his wand and cast a Cushioning Charm on the seat he intended to take for his own. Beyond the largest set of bookshelves was a doorway that Severus suspected led to Potter’s bedroom. Everything seemed to be decorated in shades of brown and white, though the overwhelming mass of parchment might well contribute to that impression. Potter looked around helplessly, then took the other chair. “What did you want to talk about?”  
  
“Your plan of refusing our company would be a good start,” Severus said dryly, conjuring a pair of glasses into which he could pour the wine. He would not trust anything in Potter’s rooms to have escaped the dust infestation.  
  
Potter sat back a little and shifted, his arms folding. Severus would have been able to mark his rising defensiveness by those gestures even if the bond had not conveyed it to him. Dark stone, this emotion was, pocked with holes like those found in pumice. “I was leaving you alone,” he muttered. “It seemed to be the best arrangement for everyone involved.”  
  
Severus sneered. “You made ‘the best arrangement’ without consulting _us_ , Potter?”  
  
Strangely, Potter relaxed at that, and Severus remembered that it was an outburst of temper that had persuaded Potter to invite him in, too. “Well, yeah,” Potter said. “You obviously want more out of me than I can give, and if anyone hands you anything, you demand even more. Malfoy’s already complaining that people still look at him suspiciously when he goes out in public, as if the pardon could help with _that_.” He rolled his eyes.  
  
Severus held out the wineglass, and Potter accepted it, his eyes darting back and forth between the liquid and Severus’s hand, as if he might have dropped in a poison with Potter unaware of it.  
  
“Draco is still young, and has much to learn,” Severus said smoothly. “As do you, Potter, particularly about what other people want from you.”  
  
Potter snorted and folded his arms again. The wineglass snagged in the folds of his shirt. Severus winced as half the wine slopped out on the floor. Potter slammed the glass onto the table he’d been studying at earlier and stood up. “I know plenty about what the Ministry wants from me,” he said, the bond tarry with bitterness, “and Malfoy, and you. _More_. I told you that. More and more, all the time.” He spun around and glared at Severus. “Fuck you. You’re not getting more than the absolute minimum you need to stay healthy.”  
  
Severus caught his breath in spite of himself. He had never seen Potter angry without thinking him insolent and wanting to punish him for it. But the barrier between student and professor was not the same as the one between them now—or rather, the one that Potter was trying to put there. And Severus had given himself permission to notice Potter’s attractiveness.  
  
He was beautiful.  
  
In a scrawny, underfed, overworked way, Severus acknowledged a moment later, not wishing to grow soft. But there was still a kind of beauty there, hard and lean, like a hound bred to the hunt.   
  
_Sleeping with him will not be such a hardship after all._  
  
“You can’t tell me, Snape,” Potter was going on in a hectoring tone, “that you would be happy with people invading your head and eating your emotions and demanding more of you still. You can’t—”  
  
“No.” Severus rose to his feet. He would not take a lesser role where Potter was concerned, in any sense. Potter simply glared at him, unimpressed, and Severus wondered whether the action had been wasted. “But that is because I handle such situations in a different way than you have. When my life was in danger, I bowed my head and endured. When the Dark Lord rummaged in my mind, picking through my memories and fouling them with his touch, I hid my true feelings behind Occlumency barriers. And when I was a spy, when I had no choice but to be a spy, I carried that burden.”  
  
Potter sneered at him. “Well, I don’t _want_ to,” he said. “The war is over, and now I should be able to live my life the way I want.”  
  
Severus sneered back. He was quite confident that he was still the teacher in the matter of that particular facial expression. “No one can do exactly as they want, Potter, not even the Ministry’s Golden Child.”  
  
“And I won’t!” Potter yelled. The bookshelves began to rattle ominously. “I’ll obey the laws and I’ll do publicity if Kingsley absolutely insists, and I’ll bite my tongue when Ron says something wrongheaded and when Mrs. Weasley sends food home with me that I’ll never eat. But I _won’t_ become _friends_ with you, I won’t _obey_ you, I won’t _be your pet_ or whatever else it is that you want!”  
  
His eyes shone furiously, and now all that lean beauty was engaged against Severus. Potter really looked as if he might lunge forwards and bite him at any moment. Severus caught his breath again. His estimation of his permanent position in relation to Potter underwent a drastic change. It was clear that nothing would be permanent when it came to their life together.   
  
“I believe you are overexcited, Potter,” he began, intending to calm him down so that they could have a productive discussion of the bond.  
  
Potter snarled at him, and then Severus was abruptly standing outside the door to Potter’s wizardspace, though he knew he had not walked there and the wards on the house should have prevented him from Apparating even if he desired to do so.  
  
 _Forcible Apparition_ , he decided, after a moment’s stunned stillness. _That must be another side-effect of the bond. It is true that it would help Potter greatly in pulling us out of danger, should we venture into it_.   
  
He could have knocked and forced another confrontation, but he preferred to retire to his own rooms and consider why that tactic had not worked.  
  
And how he was to choose one that would.  
  
*  
  
Hermione shook her head. “I’ve considered it from every angle, Harry. I don’t think that anything Snape said in that original letter to you was untrue.” She brightened and pushed the books she had on the table across to him. “But I don’t think the bond requires anything additional. You can read these if you like, though. They should explain everything to you.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to be able to understand them, Hermione.”  
  
She looked disappointed. “But with just a little practice, anyone can read books like these and—”  
  
“Thanks for helping me, but no.” Harry stood up. He had already seen Ginny peer into the Burrow’s kitchen, where he and Hermione had retreated with the books after dinner was done, twice. He wanted to go out to her and reassure her. She looked almost sick with worry.  
  
Hermione sighed and waved her wand so that all the books floated together in a pile. “All right, but I think it would be better if you could research this for yourself.”  
  
Harry smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hermione. I trust you absolutely.”  
  
Flushing and obviously pleased, and as obviously trying to hide it, Hermione still gave him a minor lecture about adult responsibilities. Harry nodded patiently to every fourth word, always a good proportion in a situation like this, and finally Hermione left the kitchen. Ginny stepped inside immediately.  
  
The expression on her face made Harry hold out his hand. “We should walk in the garden,” he said, the first thing that came into his mind. “It’s not a bad night.”  
  
“For the middle of November, no, it isn’t,” Ginny muttered, but she let him lead her.  
  
Harry cast several Warming Charms as they stepped out into the snow. Ginny could have cast them herself, he knew that, but she relaxed as they took effect and gave him that sideways smile he loved .Harry took her hand, and they walked for several minutes before Ginny cleared her throat and turned to face him.  
  
Harry looked down at her, and tried to fight back his shock. She looked _fragile_ at the moment, with her pale cheeks and her freckles standing out like dots of blood, which wasn’t a word he had ever applied to Ginny. He wanted to take her in his arms, but he wondered if she would take it the wrong way. He settled for clasping her hands instead.  
  
“What is it?” he whispered.  
  
“Look, Harry,” Ginny said, her voice infinitely sad, “if you want me to leave you alone so that you can concentrate on Snape and Malfoy, then you need to let me go. At least tell me honestly.” By the end of the sentence, the sick look had left her face, and her cheeks were a little flushed.  
  
Harry blinked at her. “Why would you say that?” he asked helplessly. “Ginny, I love you. And what I feel for them is so far from love that—”  
  
“I read about bonds like this.” Ginny turned away from him and wrapped her arms around herself as if the Warming Charms had had no effect. “They’re usually used in marriages or adoptions. Adoptions are different, where there’s already an overwhelming amount of _one_ kind of love. But they’re used in marriages because the sharing is so deep that it always leads to romantic love.” She glanced at him sideways. “And I thought you must be interested in sleeping with them because you haven’t wanted to sleep with me.”  
  
Harry ran his hand through his hair and stared at his feet. Then he sighed and said, “Gin, I haven’t slept with you yet because I was worried that I would mess it up.”  
  
Ginny looked at him with her lips parted, and Harry thought she’d never seemed so appealing.  
  
“I’m nervous,” he said. “I’ve never done it before.” He was talking quickly now, and he knew his cheeks were burning with embarrassment, but saying anything was preferable to Ginny thinking he was like _that_ with Snape and Malfoy. “And I don’t have the bonds open so I can feel their emotions, and I’m trying to stay away from them as much as I can so we _don’t_ share more than we have to, and—”  
  
He had to stop when Ginny clapped her mouth onto his. Harry opened his at once, in sheer relief, and shivered as Ginny’s tongue twined with his.  
  
“But that changes everything,” Ginny whispered, stepping away from him and squeezing his hands. “Don’t you see? I thought you really wanted the bond with Snape and Malfoy, or that you were being pulled into it despite yourself, and that you didn’t really want me.” Her smile turned sly. “And now that I know you’re nervous, I think we should go make you less nervous.”  
  
Harry hesitated one moment. He still wasn’t sure, his stomach was fluttering and cramping, and he—  
  
But Ginny’s face fell, and Harry couldn’t bear to see her look like that.  
  
“Yeah, we should,” he said, and basked in her brilliant smile.  
  
*  
  
Potter was having _sex_.  
  
Draco clenched his fingers into his sheets and stared at the ceiling, not sure which he hated more: the feelings of pleasure and astonishment darting through him, or the persistent erection between his legs.  
  
He had felt Potter’s anger before without knowing what had caused the anger. Likewise his fear, his exhaustion, and his annoyance, though in the case of the latter two emotions, Draco thought Auror training was a good source for them. But there was no way that he could mistake these feelings for anything else. They were too intense, and the visions that came to him were mixed up with flashes of the Weasley girl’s face.  
  
Draco gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to seduce Potter,” he whispered, as though speaking the words aloud might force the feelings to subside. “That was Severus’s idea. I _don’t_.”  
  
But the jealousy was there anyway. _If_ Potter was going to feel like that, then Draco thought he and Severus should have been the ones to cause it. Not least because Potter would no doubt come back to the house later grinning like a maniac, and with his hair standing on end because Weasel fingers had touched it, and with his skin marked with the bruises and bites of an energetic Weasel orgy.  
  
Severus knocked sharply on the door and opened it before Draco could do more than drag a sheet over his legs so that his arousal wouldn’t be so blatantly obvious. Then Severus stepped into the room, and Draco realized he was erect, as well.  
  
“Potter is—” Severus began.  
  
“I _know_.” Draco rolled away, pounding a fist into the pillow. “And I didn’t think it would affect me so badly, but it does,” he confessed in a whisper. If they were supposed to be allies, then he thought they should be honest with one another, not trying to hide secrets that Severus could figure out at a glance in any case.  
  
“Then,” Severus said, “we might do something about it.”  
  
Draco glared over his shoulder. “I didn’t think we could force the bonds open and make him feel what we’re feeling.” His words trailed off into a gasp, his body arching. Potter had either come to orgasm or something very like it. And mixed with the pleasure was wonder, lending a blue-white glow to the formless sea Draco was drowning in.   
  
Severus shook, too, and his face turned pale with effort to hold himself back. “We cannot,” he said, when the crest had passed and they both had their voices back, “but we might show him that we are not to be left out.”  
  
Draco raised a curious eyebrow, and Severus strode up to the edge of the bed. Draco sat up, having a vague notion of what would happen next, and Severus bent down and kissed him.   
  
It was unlike the other kisses Draco had had before, with Blaise and Pansy; it seemed like a million years since he’d been close enough to his friends to fool around with them like that. But he didn’t think it was faded memory that made this particular contact of lips so intense. Draco shuddered and sat up further, his hands flailing for a moment before Severus grabbed them and settled them on his shoulders.  
  
Draco clenched his fingers deep, sensing wiry strength and muscle. Severus’s tongue hit his again and again, curling in a way that made Draco decide he was no expert.  
  
Still, he knew more than Draco, and enough to make Draco shiver and press himself close, suddenly thinking of other things that he could do with his erection than will it to subside. Severus pulled back with the most color Draco had ever seen in his cheeks, and a pleased look that turned his eyes to deep wells. Draco snorted a bit as another flash of Weasley’s face intruded. He felt more pity than jealousy when it came to Potter now. Potter didn’t have _this_.  
  
It wasn’t love that made Severus press him to the bed, but it was knowledge, and deliberate slowness. That showed in the way his fingers pulled Draco’s robes off. Draco had always been in a hurry with Blaise and Pansy, afraid that someone would catch them.  
  
Severus was _unafraid_ , and that drew Draco to him as much as anything else. One couldn’t call his face handsome, Draco thought, as he bent over Draco after he’d pulled the trousers off and unbuttoned his shirt, but it had a concentrated focus of attention. Draco’s cock hardened more.   
  
“I am fortunate,” Severus said, not quite under his breath, and stuck his tongue out. It didn’t come anywhere near Draco’s cock. Draco moaned anyway. Severus shot him another pleased look and then lowered his mouth at last.  
  
Draco tensed at once. “Going to—” he said. He’d never been this aroused, and besides, he was eighteen.  
  
Severus murmured something around his cock, which worsened the problem, but then he pinched behind Draco’s balls, and the pain cut through the pleasure. Draco caught his breath and did his best to hold himself still. He’d only ever got Blaise to agree to blow him once, and Blaise had complained the whole time because Draco thrust haphazardly and nearly choked him.  
  
Severus couldn’t seem to stop experimenting, turning his head from side to side and licking in a different direction each time. Sometimes he ran his tongue along the bottom of Draco’s cock; other times he mouthed the head. His eyes were half-shut, as if evaluating the taste.   
  
_This is like making a new potion, for him_ , Draco thought. He wondered if he should be offended, but the thought was unexpectedly endearing. It was something he _knew_ about Severus, and that lessened the sense of strangeness that came from sleeping with someone older, someone he’d never slept with before.  
  
And then Severus curled his tongue around Draco’s erection like a sheath and drew it backwards in a single long, agonizing stroke. Draco lost himself, and bucked, the come drawn out of him in perfect accordance with the movement of Severus’s mouth. Severus coughed once, but Draco didn’t care. He was limp with afterglow by that time, and he was conscious of how nicely that complemented the pleasure still rolling through him from his bond with Potter.  
  
“Interesting,” Severus said, climbing the bed to sit beside him. He was only a bit more flushed than before, but his phoenix mark shone brilliantly. Draco wondered what that was all about, until Severus seized his chin in strong fingers and turned his face upwards.   
  
This time, the kiss was more savage, and Draco curled his leg out of the way so that Severus could have more room for his erection. Severus hissed and tilted his head back. Draco reached out with shaking fingers and began to undo _his_ robes.  
  
He paused at the sight of Severus’s cock: purple-red, long and thin. He didn’t think there was any way he could get it down his throat without it stabbing him to death. He raised apprehensive eyes to Severus’s face.   
  
Severus gave him an amused smile with a dark tinge to it that Draco had never seen before. “Do not worry about it, now,” he said. The tone promised that he would ask for Draco to suck him later. “Use your hand.”  
  
Draco spat into his hand, remembering vaguely that it had been more pleasant for him when Blaise did that, and started to stroke Severus. Severus shut his eyes again, but made no sound. Draco narrowed his eyes and stroked harder. Still no sound, though he did part his knees more, and the lines in his throat strained out.  
  
 _I bet that Potter’s little Weasley is screaming for him_ , Draco thought, and reached around to slide his fingers along the crease between Severus’s buttocks. He didn’t care what kind of noise it was, but Severus _was_ going to make a noise.  
  
Severus made a sharp, whuffling sound of surprise, and his eyes snapped open. Draco smirked at him and licked his fingers where they gripped Severus’s cock.  
  
And then Severus came, and Draco caught a blast of it on the cheek before he could scramble safely out of the way. His hand had slipped off, too, but that didn’t seem to matter. Severus still shook his way through it, and once uttered a soft grumble. Draco noted it. _It’ll be louder next time._   
  
Severus opened his eyes at last, and murmured, “A pleasant diversion.”  
  
 _Diversion_? Draco drew himself up. “If you’re only using me as a substitute for Potter—”  
  
“I have never slept with Potter,” Severus said, his voice amused. The extra color was already leaving his cheeks, but he did take Draco’s arm in a grip that was delightfully iron to draw him close for another kiss. “How would I know what he’s like?” Severus continued, when the kiss was finished. “No, Draco, this was done because we both needed it, and because I seek to strengthen the bonds between us. And because I find you attractive.”  
  
Draco grinned in spite of himself, and then allowed Severus to maneuver him so that they were both lying down on the bed. Draco was tucked between Severus’s chin and ankles, though with difficulty; he’d grown some in the past year, and Severus was no longer that much taller than he was.  
  
After Severus had fallen asleep, Draco lay staring thoughtfully into the darkness. The bond with Potter had subsided into the small, random flashes of glittering light that meant Potter was asleep and suffering transient emotions in his dreams.  
  
 _This isn’t how I thought my life would turn out._  
  
But for the first time, Draco began to think that he didn’t need to spend years being bitter about that.  
  
No, he wasn’t in the Manor rebuilding his name and being groomed to take Lucius’s place in politics, as he had always thought he would be by his eighteenth year. No, he didn’t have adoring followers hanging on his every word. No, he wasn’t yet recognized for all the immense talents he could feel bubbling up in him.  
  
But he hadn’t done too badly in his first encounter with a judgmental lover, and he could accommodate the bond.  
  
And as he lay there, the first thoughts of what he really wanted to do with his life, and his pardon, began to filter slowly through his head.  
  
*  
  
Severus was waiting for the shutting of the door that would indicate Potter’s coming home. He hadn’t returned at all last night, though this brief period of time didn’t seem to have affected the bond. And now he was trying to sneak up the stairs in the light of dawn, as if he thought that would mean no one had noticed.  
  
Severus shifted carefully away from a sleeping Draco, though he paused a moment to look at him. Draco’s hair was pushed away from his face and backwards in an extreme crown, like the ruff of a lion’s mane. His hands clasped a corner of pillow, and his mouth was ridiculously open. But he did not look as vulnerable as Severus had expected him to look. He was emerging from his long childhood into manhood at last.  
  
 _By contrast_ , he thought, as he opened the door of the bedroom and stepped out onto the landing to confront Potter, _I think Potter will look exactly as vulnerable as he should._   
  
But in this as so much else, Potter refused to conform to his expectations. He was bouncing up the stairs no matter how quietly he tried to walk, his eyes brilliant and his cheeks still flushed, as if he had that moment risen from young Miss Weasley’s bed. Severus curled his lip.  
  
He would have to steadfastly ignore that Potter, at the moment, looked more attractive than he ever had.  
  
“Snape,” Potter said, stopping in front of him with a faint smile. Suddenly, that smile vanished, and his glance darted to the door behind Severus, as if it had just occurred to him that Severus had come from a bedroom not his own. His eyes widened, his cheeks reddened, and he turned confusedly away.  
  
“Enjoy yourself?” Severus asked casually.  
  
Potter cleared his throat several times, swallowed, and then said, “Yeah, I _did_.” He gave Severus a defiant glance, as if to say that he knew they’d sensed him having sex with his girlfriend, and didn’t care. “Did you?” And he was already pushing again, already giving Severus an insolent smile.  
  
“Very much so,” Severus said, and lowered his voice into the range that he had observed was effective for confusing Potter the other day. “Draco has an enthusiasm for sex that will serve him well in the future, when he becomes even more skilled.”  
  
Potter still had that _infuriating_ smile. “So you two are together now?”  
  
“If you mean ‘Are you lovers?’, then yes,” Severus said, and had to repress his sneer. _Together_ was as repellent as any other word he had heard for the process of joining two bodies, accompanied, like all the others, by sniggers and winks and nudges.  
  
 _One advantage this bond might confer upon us is that the joining of three bodies is rare enough to bring us into a space without such juvenilia._   
  
“Well, good,” Potter said, and winked at him, in exactly the way that Severus had wished to avoid. “Maybe that’ll improve _both_ your tempers. And it’ll give you something to think about that’s not me.”  
  
And with that, he bounced off up the stairs, radiating golden happiness, and leaving Severus to stare after him in incredulous frustration.  
  
Not only was Potter not jealous of Severus and Draco’s attentions to each other, in the way that Severus had intended him to be, but he seemed _happy_ for them, with all the unacceptable soppiness that implied. And of course he would be. He seemed to assume that Severus and Draco becoming lovers meant neither one would want _him_.  
  
No matter what Severus did, Potter seemed to duck under the possible snares, or spring out of them, or bounce around them. He refused to grant them any lengthy time in his presence, and also seemed to assume that arrangement could endure forever. He disliked people being in his head, but put up with it instead of complaining endlessly about it the way Severus knew Draco would have—and thus offering an exploitable weakness.  
  
For a moment, Severus was assailed by a deep longing to use his knowledge of Potter’s emotions to taunt him. But he shook his head impatiently and drowned the thought. No, that would only drive Potter further away.  
  
For the first time, he considered what might happen if they could not capture Potter’s attention or make him seek to deepen the bond.  
  
“Sev’rus?”  
  
Severus turned around. Draco stood naked in the bedroom door and scowled at him. “You let the bed get cold.”  
  
Draco’s hair was still mussed, but his eyes were open now and glinted as he looked at Severus, and his hands were reaching out instead of clenched around a pillow. Altogether, Severus decided that he preferred the alert version of Draco. He strode up to him and lowered his head for a kiss to prove that.  
  
Draco’s mouth was warm, his tongue eager.   
  
_It may not matter if Potter does not ever come around_ , Severus thought, after a breathless moment. _I have Draco, and he is more than compensation for Potter._   
  
The vision of all three of them united still remained in his mind, he thought, as he reached out to press Draco back into the bed, and he would still try to make it come true, if only because of the benefits it would give _him_. Potter would find that Severus could be as indomitable in his actions as Potter himself.  
  
But it need not happen immediately.  
  
 _Something more enjoyable will, instead_ , he decided, and bit down on Draco’s collarbone.


	5. Chapter 5

  
“What are you doing in here, Malfoy?”  
  
Draco paused a moment with the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook in his hands, trying to see if he recognized the voice. He didn’t, which left him with no choice but to turn around and see who it was. He would have preferred the option to simply march straight out of Flourish and Blotts with his nose in the air, but he was coming to accept that the world didn’t always provide him with everything he wanted.  
  
He still didn’t recognize the person when he turned. It was a tall boy with eyes so bright and a flush so hectic that Draco would have thought he was a Weasley if his hair was red. But he was dark-haired and dark-eyed—and, more to the point, clutching a wand as if he wanted to snap it rather than aim it at Draco.  
  
“Purchasing a book,” Draco said, deciding that he should answer the boy’s question with the maximum of cool scorn, after a leisurely glance up and down him. He had improved his notions of male attractiveness since he started sleeping with Severus, but this boy was no prize. Scrawny, and not in the rugged way that Potter favored, either; more as if his parents didn’t earn enough Galleons to feed him properly. _Surely he must be at least a Weasley cousin_. “Do I know you?”  
  
“If you don’t, then it’s because you must have forgotten me to assuage your guilt.” The boy raised _his_ nose. _Not only a Weasley cousin, but a Weasley cousin with pretensions_. “My name is Mark Pepperfield.”  
  
Draco frowned. He had memorized the names of people with a grudge against him during his Wizengamot trial, when it seemed that anyone who might have a case had appeared in the courtroom to testify. He was sure he would have remembered a Pepperfield.   
  
“I didn’t do anything to you.” He lowered his voice, a trick Severus sometimes used when he was angry and wanted to catch someone else’s attention rather than being turned out, and saw Pepperfield’s eyes widen. “I’m a free citizen of Great Britain just like you are, pardoned by the Minister himself. Now, sod off.” And he turned to the front of the shop with what he thought was a rather magnificent snap of his cloak.  
  
“You let the Death Eaters into the school, and they made my little sister have nightmares!” Pepperfield yelled.  
  
It was all the warning Draco got before something that hurt more than a splash of scalding water hit him in the back.  
  
*  
  
Eric Scarman was appropriately named, given the scars from torture he had running up his back and legs. (Harry was quickly coming to appreciate that chasing Dark wizards was not a profession for anyone vain). But he was a quick duelist, chosen to “help” the trainees with Curses and Hexes because he could hurl spells with supernatural speed. Harry had to rely on a combination of instinct and training to defeat him, and already it had earned him a bleeding finger, a broken bone in his hand, and several singed eyelashes.  
  
Thus, it was pure luck that he dropped to the floor with shock when the phoenix mark on his left arm began to burn and missed Scarman’s latest spell.  
  
This wasn’t like the burning that had invaded him when Snape and Malfoy were in danger of dying because of the bond, Harry thought absently as he scrambled to his feet. Scarman was commending him, but he couldn’t listen right now. He concentrated on the pain instead, and identified it as a tingling surge, the same kind of sensation repeated over and over again.  
  
A bell. A warning call.  
  
And if it was the left mark, and not the right, or both, that meant Malfoy was in danger.  
  
“Sorry, sir,” he gasped to Scarman, who was frowning because he hadn’t responded to the congratulations the way he was supposed to. “I’ve—I have a bond connecting me to a friend, and I reckon he’s in a spot of trouble,” he improvised desperately. Scarman would probably think he was talking about Ron. Everyone knew how close Harry was to his best friends, and a bond wouldn’t surprise them.  
  
Scarman hissed under his breath and stepped out of the way. “Nothing a Death Eater would like better than striking at a war hero,” he said. “I wish you luck.”  
  
Harry held back his hysterical laughter as he scrambled for the doors of the classroom. _Not Death Eaters, not likely. And if you only knew_.  
  
Once again, the moment he was outside the Ministry building, the burning call sharpened, and he knew where he was going even though he had no idea of the Apparition coordinates. He stretched his left arm out in front of him, watched the phoenix’s claws and beak and wings glow red-gold, and said, “Take me there.”  
  
The marks flared brilliantly and pulled him through time and space as if those things were a sheer curtain that had been suddenly lifted.  
  
*  
  
“Take _that_ for destroying my sister’s future,” Pepperfield was saying, somewhere beyond the pain. He sounded a bit shocked, but pleased, as if he hadn’t thought the spell would work this well.  
  
Draco clamped his teeth down on his tongue, doing his best not to scream. He knew people were staring, but no one in the shop so far had moved to help him, so he didn’t think they would. The very least he could do in the face of hatred like that was to keep some sign of his pain from his tormentor.  
  
There had been no point in not screaming in front of the Dark Lord. He could always use Legilimency to learn exactly how much it hurt.  
  
And then boots landed solidly beside his head, and Draco turned weakly over, gasping, wondering if Pepperfield’s sister or someone else from his family had arrived to help torture Draco. It couldn’t be Severus. He was never that lucky.  
  
But no, instead it was Potter, who crouched down beside him and put a hand on his left shoulder. Draco shivered. The pain in the left side of his body ceased instantly, and then the pain on the right side was gone, too. He was grateful for the healing, but Potter’s anger was like a marching lightning storm. Draco didn’t want to be caught out in it.  
  
“What did you think you were doing?” Potter did the lowered-voice trick even better than Severus, maybe because of his name. Pepperfield actually stumbled back into a bookshelf, and looked as if he were about to drop his wand. “Using a curse on someone the _Minister_ pardoned? Someone who had to survive Voldemort ordering him to torture people for almost a year?” Draco frantically wondered how Potter knew about that. “And what about _you_?” He turned a furious glare on the rest of Flourish and Blotts. It looked as though everyone present would have poured out into the street, except that they were afraid to move. Potter’s voice was rising in power and volume now, and every book in sight was jumping, the pages shaking as if they would tear free of the spines. “Don’t tell me you didn’t care, that you’ll willingly see anyone tortured for his blood. Fuck me, you’re as bad as Voldemort—”  
  
It took a large effort, as Draco was rather enjoying the show, but he put a hand on Potter’s shoulder. “They’re going to wonder why you’re so upset,” he muttered.  
  
Potter irritably tried to work his hold off. “Let them. Bloody bastards, hurting someone because of who he’s related to—”  
  
“Yes, but do you want them to know about the bond?”  
  
He might have emptied a liter of ice water over Potter’s head. The git froze, and the image Draco received of his emotions was of lightning halting in place, then cracking and falling from the skies. Then he sighed and helped Draco to his feet. “What curse did you use on him?” he demanded of Pepperfield.  
  
“The Scalding Arch Curse,” the boy whispered, and Draco shivered. The pain from that curse built until it exhausted the body’s ability to resist it, if left untreated. He was lucky indeed that Potter had been there and he hadn’t had to go to St. Mungo’s.  
  
He wanted to resent that—he was dependent on Potter for physical protection; really, he was no better than a pet—but Potter’s brow contracted, and his eyes flashed _most_ impressively, and he said, “That’s Dark Arts!”  
  
Draco shivered again, but this time because he had finally seen what Severus was always going on about in the last month: how magnificent Potter was when he was angry. He was tense, too tense even to tremble, and he was leaning forwards. Given how lean he was, it made him look like a winter-hungry wolf ready to rip Pepperfield’s throat out.  
  
“Yes,” Pepperfield whimpered. Draco wanted to laugh at the way he shook now, too afraid to look away from Potter’s eyes. “I—I didn’t think. If you knew that he caused my sister nightmares—”  
  
“Lots of people have nightmares,” Potter said. “Not all of them go around using illegal Dark Arts on the people they believe are responsible.” He surveyed Pepperfield with a coldness that would have done credit to a Wizengamot judge. Draco did his best not to look smug. “What’s your name?” Potter asked at last, in a tone of voice that suggested he was barely resisting the temptation to say that Pepperfield must be called “Idiot Imbecile, of the Mudville Imbeciles.”  
  
“Mark Pepperfield,” said Idiot Imbecile, or at least that was what he said when you left out all the stammering.  
  
Potter took a deep breath. “Then I’ll see you under that name in the Ministry tomorrow morning, when there’s an official investigation into this,” he said. “Good _afternoon_ , Pepperfield.” And he turned and escorted Draco, arm still around his shoulders, to the door.  
  
Someone stepped in front of them. Draco scrutinized her narrowly, but he didn’t know anyone outside his family with hair that pale—it was almost white—and big blue eyes full of tears, either. He sighed in irritation. _Why must there be so many innocent victims in the world?_   
  
“I don’t understand,” the woman whispered. “How could you support him and think well of him, after all he did?”  
  
“I’m training to be an Auror,” Potter said. His voice had got colder yet. His anger was back to a mutter on the distant horizon, which signaled a storm coming rather than one actually there. Draco was glad he’d retained that measure of control. Maybe they could get out of the shop without burning all the books in sight. “That means protecting innocents no matter how much I might disagree with their personal politics. And Mr. Malfoy has paid as much of a debt as he had to pay.” The woman went on staring, and Potter made his voice thinner until it was practically a hiss. “Get. Out. Of. Our. _Way_.”  
  
She finally did squeak and scurry then, like the mouse she was, and Draco strutted out at Potter’s side.   
  
The pain in his back was completely gone. Pepperfield being tried, or at least scolded, by the Minister himself would put a damper on other people who might think to attack him simply because of what he’d done in the past.   
  
And the Chosen One, the Minister’s current pet trainee Auror, had practically staked a claim to him in public—and done it in such a way that Draco thought he might come to consider him a friend in the future, rather than just someone who went out of his way to protect everybody he came across.   
  
What wasn’t to strut about?  
  
*  
  
“He cannot have used the Scalding Arch Curse.”  
  
Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. Snape was being difficult, as usual, in this case because he was staring at Draco’s back expressionlessly. “That’s what Pepperfield claimed he used, and Draco said he felt something like that, too.” Draco, under Snape’s hands, twitched violently. Harry frowned at him. Really, everyone was behaving strangely today. “Maybe it was something else, but it would have to be something that resembled the Scalding Arch pretty bloody closely.”  
  
Snape transferred the expressionless stare to him. “And how would you know what spells resemble the Scalding Arch?”  
  
Harry blinked like a lizard and tapped his fingers against his Auror trainee’s robes. “Learning all about curses is a part of my exalted program of education, remember?”  
  
Snape simply grunted and turned back to Draco, then began tapping his wand in a series of jerky motions. Harry sat back in his chair and watched intently. He still didn’t know if Draco needed to be taken to St. Mungo’s. If so, then it would suggest the bond hadn’t worked as well as Harry thought. His touch could only relieve pain, not take away a curse.  
  
If not…  
  
Harry nibbled his lip. Snape hadn’t mentioned healing as one of the side-effects of the bond. On the other hand, saving Snape and Draco’s lives had been the first thing he ever willed the bond to do. Maybe it made sense that part of that was still hanging around.  
  
Draco suddenly gasped. Harry grabbed his hand, and Draco squeezed hard enough that Harry thought he was competing with Ledbetter in the “smash-Harry’s-bones-to-a-pulp” contest. He looked at Snape. “What is it?”  
  
“Nothing unexpected,” Snape murmured. “Sending a Seeking Spell into the muscles in search of pain is not painless, though it is easy.”  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes. He’d never heard of a Seeking Spell, and would have to remember to ask Hermione. For right now, he would trust Snape, who would probably not want to hurt the man he loved. But he might do something that wasn’t the most comfortable thing simply because it was expedient, and Draco didn’t deserve to suffer like that. So Harry would still ask Hermione.  
  
“Causing pain to find pain,” he contented himself with saying now. “That sounds counterproductive.”  
  
Another blank stare, and then Snape stepped back from Draco, shaking his head. “I must research the bonds further,” he said. “I did not know that this was possible. For that matter, I did not know that it was possible for us to summon you when we were in danger from something that had nothing to do with the bond itself.” He looked at Draco. “Or did you consciously call out for Potter?”  
  
Draco sat back up at last and shook his head, tugging his shirt down. Harry surveyed his motions critically. His instructors had just begun the courses on seeing shock and critical, hidden injuries, and Harry still wasn’t very good at them. But as far as he could _tell_ , Draco was all right. “No. I wished someone would help me. That’s all.”  
  
“Then I must study,” Snape said, and stalked away with his robes flowing impressively. Harry waited until the potions lab door had closed behind him before he snorted.  
  
“He’s acting as though I’m shedding poisonous particles that will kill all his delicate potions ingredients,” Harry muttered.   
  
Draco tossed him a curious glance. “You forget we can feel your emotions,” he said. “Severus knows that you distrust him and feel protective towards me at the moment. I don’t think he likes it that one part of your feelings changed and the other didn’t.” He paused. “Why do you still feel protective of me? And why are you calling me Draco?”  
  
Harry jumped and started to accuse Draco of reading his thoughts after all, and then remembered he had said the name aloud. That was when Draco had twitched.   
  
And Draco’s cheeks were pale again now. It seemed he understood the reason for Harry’s momentary flash of apprehension and hated it. Harry sighed. “I’m still not used to this,” he muttered. “But the main answer to your questions is that I saw you as someone in need. Someone I could do something for. Snape isn’t like that.”  
  
“He needs your emotions to survive.” Draco’s face was the curiously blank one now. “You’re bound to his soul and his magic, and him to yours.”  
  
Harry rubbed a hand over his face and flopped against the back of the chair. “Yeah, but he’s still…I don’t know. I don’t think he’ll ever need _me_. Me as a person, the one person who can make a difference in that situation. If he was bonded to you, then he would need your emotions and your soul and your magic, in my place. It wouldn’t matter to him that it was you and not me. Except that he might think it was a little easier, not being tied to someone he hates.”  
  
“You like being needed.” Draco’s voice was curiously low and clear. Harry again looked at him, but he was shite at reading Slytherin faces.  
  
“Well, yeah. I do.” Harry shrugged. “But too many people needed me for generic reasons. They needed a hero and a savior, and not Harry Potter. But today you required protection, and that was something I could _do_ , based on my training. Not something that happened when I was a baby, not something I barely remember. And—” He hesitated for a moment, then decided that he might as well be honest, since he’d started talking about this already. “I was destined to fight Voldemort because of a prophecy, you know? But not _me_ , at the same time. It could as easily have been Neville Longbottom.”  
  
Draco made a noise like Dudley choking on a chicken bone.  
  
“Yes, really.” Harry grinned at him. “But Voldemort decided on the half-blood, like him, and not the pure-blood as the dangerous one.” He shrugged, thinking about what Dumbledore had told him, on that long-ago afternoon when he was still grieving for Sirius and trying to deal with this flood of new information about what his role in life was. “So the prophecy needed a hero, too. Not me.”  
  
“But maybe I needed any Auror,” Draco said. “Not you. So how do you reconcile my need of you and Severus’s lack of need?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Maybe just because I’ve learned how to protect people from the Aurors and I didn’t learn anything about accidental magic; it simply happened.” Draco looked dissatisfied, but Harry decided to change the subject. He’d said more than he should have on a subject he didn’t understand that well. “What were you looking for in the bookshop?”  
  
Draco reached over to the table next to the couch where Snape had treated him and displayed the book. Harry smiled at the title, _301 Ways of Protecting Yourself from Curses_. “Matthewson is good,” he said. “But a bit of a beginner’s text.” He was reading much more challenging books in Auror training now.  
  
“I know,” Draco said, and folded the book close to him. “But I never sat my NEWTs in Defense. I wanted one that could remind me of basic concepts I’d forgotten.”  
  
“Are you going to take your NEWTs?” Harry relaxed back into the chair. He was proud of himself for finding common ground they could talk about, without constantly talking about the bonds or Snape.  
  
Draco shook his head. “I know what I want to do,” he admitted. “Create a new discipline that combines Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I need more information than I have right now to do it.”  
  
Harry blinked. “But Potions and Defense are fine on their own,” he said. “I can’t think—what would you do when you combined them? What do you want to accomplish?”  
  
Draco scowled at him and hugged the book more tightly. “I don’t know yet. I just know that I want to combine them.”  
  
“Well, think about it,” Harry said.   
  
Draco sneered. “What? Concerned that if I succeeded, they might make you learn Potions in your training?”  
  
“I’m going to start that next year,” Harry said, and threw in an exaggerated shudder and eyeroll so that he could get around the tension that was starting to hover between them. “Unless you think you can develop it that fast, then I don’t have anything to worry about.”  
  
Draco hesitated. Then he said, “I could help you study for the Potions part of your exams.”  
  
“Why?” Harry said. Draco stared at him, and he added, “I just—why do you want to? Don’t you think that it’s best we keep out of each other’s lives as much as possible?”  
  
“Honestly?” Draco was speaking very softly now, so softly that Harry had trouble hearing him even when he leaned forwards. But he paused, so Harry had to nod to show he was interested in his answer. “No. Of course not.”  
  
Harry frowned and played with the edge of his shirt. “Why not?”  
  
A flood of words broke out of Draco, as if he’d been longing to talk to someone about this. _Of course, Snape probably isn’t the most sympathetic person if you want to make an intimate confession, even if he’s great in bed_ , Harry thought wryly. “Because this bond is something powerful, and important, and special. If it can heal a curse like the Scalding Arch Curse, then it might be able to affect our lives even more than that. I want to know what the bond is, and does. I want to know you better.” He hesitated, and color stained his cheeks. “I want to know you better as a person, too.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “But we’re happy the way we are now.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “You think that because you’re never here for Severus’s mid-morning rants about the way you run out of the house.”  
  
Harry started to ask why Snape would want him around more, and then sneered as something Draco had said before connected with these words. “He thinks the bond is powerful, just like you do,” he said flatly. “He wants to use it to gain power, doesn’t he? Or prestige. Or acknowledgment of his greatness at potions. Or maybe just power over me. I’ve never been certain what Snape wants.” He shook his head and stood up. Bitterness coiled through him like oil, destroying all his pleasure in being able to laugh with Draco and talk like a civilized person. “I should have known.” He strode towards the door.  
  
Draco leaped up and intercepted him. “You don’t understand everything,” he said. “Yes, we do think that we could become powerful through this bond. That’s a reason we chose to share our magic, remember? Because this particular spell would ensure that our combined strength was available to all of us, and not merely to one.”  
  
Harry looked at him. “I remember that. And I thought Snape was actually being _practical_. Should have known it was another Slytherin—”  
  
“ _No_. Listen.” Draco pressed his hands into place over Harry’s wrists. “Yes, Severus wants power. So do I, for that matter. I was raised to expect it, as my father’s son, and Severus joined the Death Eaters to pursue it. It’s just mad to think that we wouldn’t try to take advantage of the bond.  
  
“But that’s not the same thing as taking advantage of _you_. We really do need your emotions to survive, not because we wanted to peep into your head. You know that from the effects that not feeling them had on us.”  
  
Harry jerked his hands out from under Draco’s. His head was reeling, between the anger and the contempt and the confusion. “But I don’t want you to want power at all.”  
  
Draco stood up straighter and looked him in the eye. “You don’t get to control what we feel and do any more than we get to control you,” he said quietly. “This is what we _are_. What if we said that we didn’t want you to become an Auror because there’s a chance that we could die if you lose your life in the pursuit of Dark wizards?”  
  
Harry ground his teeth together. “But protecting someone else is _good_ ,” he said. “In a way that wanting power _isn’t_.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “You used your power with the Minister to get us those pardons, didn’t you? You used your magical power to heal me today and keep the people in the shop from attacking me again, didn’t you?”  
  
“I never asked for that power,” Harry began.   
  
“But you still have it, and you use it.” Draco snorted. “I refuse to believe that merely wanting power can somehow cause more problems than the use of it.”  
  
“The worst leaders are the ones who want to become leaders,” Harry said, though with the vague sensation he was wading into deeper philosophical waters than he was prepared for.  
  
Draco rocked back on his heels and stared at him. “That’s the greatest piece of shite I’ve ever heard,” he said. “Who do you think will be the better leader, the person who’s trained for it and thought about the consequences of his decisions and tried to find some way around the most obvious problems? Or the one who sits back and wrings his hands and worries because he might be making the wrong choice? Would you want Albus Dumbledore leading Hogwarts if we had a war against another Dark Lord, or Neville Longbottom?”  
  
Harry shook his head. “It’s still not the same thing. Dumbledore didn’t _want_ power. He was just there to defeat Grindelwald, and after that everyone treated him like a hero.” He would keep some of the things he’d learned about Dumbledore’s fallibility to himself; he didn’t see why Draco needed to hear him speak ill of the dead. “He didn’t wake up one morning and ask himself if he wanted to conquer the world. Voldemort and Grindelwald did.”  
  
“But once he had power,” Draco said calmly, “he fought to accumulate it. Unless you think he never tried to sabotage the Ministry and was grateful when they tried to take away his control of Hogwarts.”  
  
Harry hesitated. Then he sighed and shook his head again. “I don’t know where to draw the line,” he said. “I don’t know what constitutes wanting power and what doesn’t.” He rubbed his forehead, wishing he still had the scar to blame headaches on.  
  
“Then it’s rather short-sighted of you to scold me and Severus for wanting it.” Draco sneered lightly at him, but Harry could tell that expression didn’t have the same force it would have had when they were in school. Then he frowned. _Should I be worried that I know that much about him_? “Leave it to go forwards. If we start causing harm, _then_ stop us.”  
  
Harry thought about it, and found himself surprisingly all right with that. At least he trusted Snape and Draco more than he would have someone like Lucius Malfoy. And if he had misjudged them horribly and they woke up one morning cackling about bloody purity and threatening to kill half the wizarding population of Britain, then he could use the bonds to stop them.  
  
“I’ll do that,” he said, and yawned.  
  
Draco raised one eyebrow. “Is my conversation that boring?”  
  
“No, my sleeping periods are that short,” Harry said wryly. “Can you believe that I thought Auror training would be easier than going in for a seventh year at Hogwarts?”  
  
“Again, rather short-sighted of you.” Draco folded his arms as if he thought he had scored a point.  
  
“Piss off,” Harry said amiably. “If I’m not going to interfere with your choices, then don’t interfere with mine.” He started for the door.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
Surprised but pleased—it was the first time either of them had used his name without sounding sarcastic—Harry turned around. Draco was looking at him with a serious expression. He bit his lip and said, “When I start helping you with Potions, then can you help me with Defense Against the Dark Arts? I need to know that, too, if I’m going to combine them, but I’m not as good as you are at it.”  
  
Harry stared at him for a moment. Then he began to grin. “Was that a touch of _humility_ I hear, Malfoy? Getting back in touch with your childish side?”  
  
Draco made an extremely complicated gesture at him that should have been impossible whilst he was still holding a book. Harry laughed. “Sure. I can help you with that. It’s a fair return.”  
  
Draco relaxed. “Good. I’ll see you later.” And he turned and walked out of the room. Though Harry studied him carefully, he couldn’t see any of the stiffness or flinches that would have meant the Scalding Arch was still affecting him.  
  
He rolled his eyes and shot the closed potions lab door a disdainful look before he left. “Why can’t you be more like _him_?” he muttered.  
  
*  
  
Severus stared down at the calculations on the parchment, and then shook his head.  
  
Granted, he was working from experience of healing potions, rather than from an expertise on bonds or a familiarity with healing spells. A Healer from St. Mungo’s would know more.  
  
But because he hardly intended to tell a Healer, a stranger, about the bonds that linked him to Draco and Potter, he would have to become an expert on bonds himself.  
  
Severus rubbed the phoenix on his arm and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. He had heard the whole of Draco’s and Potter’s conversation. They had hardly tried to be quiet, and the lab door bore spells that would conduct sounds to his ears, mostly so that he could hear if someone tried to invade—which was all the more likely now that he and Draco were going out in public again and receiving outraged letters from those who thought they shouldn’t have been pardoned.  
  
And he had realized, with bitterness and with a long argument against accepting the obvious in his own mind, that he had indeed gone about seducing Potter in the wrong way.  
  
It was not enough to want to seduce him. Unlike Draco, who had been starved of positive attention and required a large dose of concentration during lovemaking in order to soothe him and bring out the best in his personality, Potter was used to people looking at him and wanting him for various reasons. The little speech Severus had eavesdropped on showed that well enough.  
  
He would not be flattered by the attention of a man old enough to be his father, a man he had ample reason to despise. He had not lived with Severus as Draco had and come to know him that way. (He was still not truly _living_ with him). He would not be impressed by Severus’s Potions knowledge, and he had shown that Severus’s teaching methods were not well-suited to him, even if he had been inclined to take advantage of that knowledge.  
  
And he hated the very notion of seeking power, so he would hate the very notion of exploiting the bond to its fullest potential.  
  
Severus shook his head. So he must show Potter compassion, respect, and—it appeared—frankness. He now had a much better idea of why Potter had invited Severus into his rooms when Severus’s temper flared. That was what he was familiar with in their interactions, and so he had assumed that Severus was only being honest when he was angry or disgusted.  
  
And it could not be _calculated_ compassion, respect, and frankness. Potter would pick up on that. He would assume that Severus was feigning everything in order to get close to him and gain power, and that might even cause him to move out of the house. At the very least, he’d never allow Severus another chance.  
  
Severus rubbed his hand across his mouth.  
  
 _I must actually feel those things for Potter. I must actually wish to demonstrate my honesty.  
  
And as yet, I do not think I can._  
  
Severus took a deep breath. Bitterness like Muggle coffee coiled in his mouth whenever he admitted defeat. But he had to do it now. There was no way he could set out on the kind of campaign he had planned and win Potter’s affection and interest, which would be necessary to cement any physical bond.  
  
So he must wait until he _did_ feel some interest in Potter’s life, and not simply in altering Potter’s life so that he would spend more time with Draco and Severus. He must wait until he thought more often of Potter’s random flashes of beauty, his strength, his dedication to protecting the innocent, and his other good qualities, than he did of his negative ones.  
  
 _If I can actually do this…  
  
Then I would make a good partner for him. But I have to think about that, rather than about molding him into a better partner for myself._  
  
Severus shut his eyes. Albus had laughed at him once when Severus said that it was easy to show sympathy for another person, and harder to criticize them objectively and help them improve.  
  
“Ah, Severus,” he said. “If you only knew how hard it is for many teachers to show interest in individual students and not simply in those who are like themselves, you would not say that. Professors aspire to an ideal that we rarely achieve.” He had sighed then and stared at the wall. “Merlin knows I have my own pets.”  
  
 _And Potter was one of his pets. But Albus still endangered his life and hid information from him and assumed that he would have to die in order to save the world._  
  
Potter had never had whole-hearted support from anyone except his two best friends. Severus had seen enough glimpses of the boy’s home life during the Occlumency lessons not to fool himself about Potter’s Muggle family.   
  
_Someone who could actually support him and care for him would be invaluable. But I cannot do that if I_ try _to do it._  
  
It was a paradox.   
  
Severus straightened his spine.  
  
 _But I have always enjoyed a challenge._


	6. Chapter 6

  
“We can’t prosecute him.”  
  
Harry had been leaning back in the chair in Kingsley’s office, feeling contentment travel through him like warm water. He had been sure, after Mark Pepperfield told his story in stumbling words and didn’t even try to lie, that Kingsley would see the necessity of immediate prosecution. But those words went straight through him like a hot wire—a sensation that Ledbetter had introduced him to last week.  
  
He must have heard wrong. Maybe Kingsley meant that the _Ministry_ couldn’t prosecute Pepperfield, but the Wizengamot could. Harry took a deep breath. “Who can?”  
  
Kingsley slowly shook his head. He was watching Harry with a concentrated sadness that Harry only now noticed—noticed because there it was so concentrated that Kingsley seemed to be hiding another emotion underneath it. _But what_? “No one can, Harry. No evidence of what he did exists.”  
  
“ _Bollocks_ ,” Harry said, loud enough that he almost startled himself. “He attacked Malfoy in front of a shop full of people! Maybe they won’t enjoy being called as witnesses, but we can call them. And there’s Pensieves, and—”  
  
“You don’t understand.” Kingsley spoke with intense softness, too, which more or less forced Harry to shut up and listen. “You didn’t take Malfoy to St. Mungo’s. By your own admission, he doesn’t have a mark on him. And Pepperfield’s story will seem to be a lie if you show that he wasn’t actually affected by the Scalding Arch Curse.”  
  
“Then we can take him to St. Mungo’s!” Harry stood up, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t remember being this frustrated since he was trying to figure out the clues to the Deathly Hallows that Dumbledore had left him. “Honestly, sir, do you really think we should just leave Pepperfield to go free and brag that one can do whatever one wants to to an exonerated Death Eater and get away with it?”  
  
“Taking Malfoy to St. Mungo’s would expose the existence of the bonds,” Kingsley said firmly. “And that, we absolutely cannot do.”  
  
Harry hesitated, thinking of the balance he’d fought so hard to maintain during the last months, giving the majority of his time to his friends and Ginny whilst sleeping in the same house as Malfoy and Snape. Then, not without regret, he demolished the whole structure in his mind. “I’d rather that people knew about it, and plagued me with requests for interviews and spread rumors about me, instead of trying to kill Malfoy and Snape,” he said.  
  
“That’s impossible,” Kingsley repeated.   
  
Harry stared hard at him. Kingsley looked back without flinching, which at least convinced Harry that it was a serious reason, whatever it was. “Suppose you tell me why it is,” he muttered at last.  
  
“Sit down.”  
  
Harry flushed as he realized that he’d acted like a schoolboy, rather than an Auror under the Minister’s employment, by marching up and down the way he’d done, and challenging Kingsley’s decisions. He took a deep breath and sank back into his chair. Yes, he would use the power of his name to do things like get the pardons, but he was trying to show that he didn’t think so well of himself as to try and upstage the entire Ministry’s structure.  
  
“That’s better.” Kingsley leaned forwards. “You remember what I said about not allowing Malfoy and Snape to control you?”  
  
“Of course.” Harry twitched restlessly, and forced his hands into position on the armrests of the chair. “But I don’t see how making the bonds public would allow them to control me. They still can’t hurt me through the magic the way I can hurt them—”  
  
“I know that,” Kingsley said. “But you’re already the focus of publicity and controversy, Harry. Many people are declaring that you’ll be the best Auror in a hundred years, simply based on your record during the war. I don’t think _anyone_ has ever been allowed to enter Auror training without sitting his NEWTS first.”  
  
Harry nodded a cautious agreement. “I knew that, sir. I understand and appreciate the risk that you took by accepting me into the program, and I’d like to thank you again. But—”  
  
“And that means,” Kingsley said quietly, “that we have to be extremely careful who you’re seen in public with. If someone knows that he can bring you charging into danger just by kidnapping or hurting Malfoy and Snape…imagine what would happen. The risk would increase exponentially beyond what it is simply by Aurors having families. Your friends the Weasleys still place themselves in danger by associating with you. But they’re not bonded to you, and they’re famous in their own right, so someone would be more likely to notice if one of them disappeared. Snape and Malfoy have almost no one who will aid them, let alone freely.” He waited, but Harry still glared at him, so he added gently, “I’m asking you not to talk about the bonds in public because it would mean that our best Auror, the one we’ve taken a chance on, and the one who’s coming to be seen as the face of the Ministry, whether he likes it or not, would be more at risk.”  
  
Harry took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. _You should have known this would happen. Politics don’t stop happening just because the war did, and you’re always going to be a political, and controversial, figure._   
  
“None of that means you can’t punish Pepperfield,” he said. “ _He_ doesn’t know how hurt Draco is or was, and the people in the shop saw the original curse happen, not what he looked like afterwards.”  
  
“How do you explain that you were the one charging to his rescue?” Kingsley asked.  
  
Harry gave him an incredulous glance. “He was recently pardoned by the Ministry, and he’s known to be at a higher risk that other people. He couldn’t be carrying some device that would let off a warning call to the Aurors when he was hurt by Dark Arts? And I couldn’t happen to be the Auror that responded? And that’s another thing,” he added. “You ought to prosecute Pepperfield for use of Dark Arts, too.”  
  
Kingsley nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea, actually, Harry. We’ll start manufacturing those devices and issuing them as soon as possible, to make the lie truth. And it wouldn’t involve a word about the bond.” He smiled at Harry. “I’m glad that you’re taking this so well.”  
  
Harry smiled back, but in the back of his head, a small discontent gnawed itself a place and lay down to brood.  
  
 _I’m not going to forget that you didn’t think of this solution yourself, that you were perfectly willing to sacrifice Draco and let someone who hurt him walk away because of the way it might have impacted_ me. _Draco and Snape have even fewer friends than I thought. Their lives don’t really matter to you except in an abstract way.  
  
Maybe that’s another reason I have to be their champion_.  
  
*  
  
“Potter.”  
  
“Snape.” The boy’s tone was not snappish, at least, though he nodded briskly to him with a dark scowl on his face. Then he turned to the door and gestured with his wand. Severus tensed without meaning to. Usually, Potter carried his books with him. That he was bringing something else in behind him probably indicated the arrival of an idiotic friend.  
  
Instead, what floated in was a tray covered with a delicious-smelling array of platters. Severus licked his lips before he could stop himself. “What is that?”  
  
“A meal from a restaurant that just opened in Diagon Alley.” Potter shrugged, and his eyes darted away from Severus. “The restaurant’s called the Blue Moon. Draco mentioned that he wanted to eat there, but he doubted they would accept a former Death Eater among their clients, since the owner’s Muggleborn. So I got some food from it and brought it here so that we could share.” He was glaring at Severus again by the end of it, as if he expected him to jump up and start checking the food for poisons.  
  
Severus cleared his throat. “And you and Draco will take it to his rooms to share, I suppose?” An aching jealousy filled him—he had not spent much time with Draco today—but just for a moment. He had never intended to have Draco exclusively to himself, after all; he had envisioned a triangular relationship from the beginning.  
  
“What?” Potter stared at him. “Of course not. It’s for all of us to share.”  
  
Severus stared back in confusion.  
  
Potter gave a colossal sigh, as if Severus was the one who regularly screwed up simple potions. Then he faced him and folded his arms across his chest as if he wanted to prevent Severus from looking too closely at his internal organs. “ _Look_ , Snape,” he said. “I don’t like you. You don’t like me. But we both like Draco.” He looked uncertain for a moment, maybe wishing he’d chosen some other word for his own feelings, but soldiered on. “I don’t think it’s fair that he should have to choose between us when we’re both here, and it would be stupid to shut you out when you’ve probably been brewing potions all day instead of talking to him. So we’ll all eat down here.” He turned away and marched into the small kitchen, the platter of food accompanying him, as if he considered the subject closed.  
  
Severus laid down his book slowly, watching Potter’s back as long as it was in sight. Then he stood and turned up the stairs to call Draco down. He felt very much as if he were in a dream.  
  
 _Potter is acting—like an adult._  
  
Severus remained silent throughout dinner, which was an excellent array of salads, sliced fruits, lightly toasted bread soaked with butter, and three whole roasted chickens; the Blue Moon appeared to have gone to the extreme in order to please the Boy-Who-Lived. He ate and savored the meat that hardly touched his tongue before it dissolved, as well as fresh blueberries that he hadn’t eaten in too many years, but his eyes were on Potter and Draco, involved in an animated discussion of Quidditch. Draco’s face was flushed, and he smiled continually, when he wasn’t scowling. Once, the conversation nearly became an argument, as Potter rose, with his hands in fists, to defend the honor of the Chudley Cannons.  
  
Then Draco asked him to think seriously about the team’s chances of winning their next game, and Potter paused, rolled his eyes, and sat down again. From that moment forwards, the talk proceeded more smoothly.  
  
And Potter, though he glanced uneasily at Severus most of the time when he deigned to notice him, was unfailingly polite when he passed him the fruit or the bread. He _did_ go out of his way to avoid letting their fingers touch, but Severus was rather inclined to regard that as a hopeful sign than otherwise.  
  
When the evening ended and Potter vanished into his own rooms, Draco turned to Severus with a glowing face. “He said that he’ll take us to look at houses in Hogsmeade tomorrow. On the _outskirts_ of Hogsmeade, so that we can have some privacy,” he added quickly. “But can you believe it, Severus?”  
  
Severus spent a moment thinking. His whirling thoughts contained the conversation Potter and Draco had had yesterday, the outrage Potter had displayed over the Scalding Arch Curse, and the fact that Potter had very carefully mentioned nothing about the Pepperfield boy who had attacked Draco.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “I think I can.”  
  
*  
  
“You’re willingly spending a Saturday in Malfoy and Snape’s company?” Hermione raised an eyebrow as she pointed at Harry with a piece of toast. “I’m amazed.”  
  
“Shut up, I can do nice things for other people, sometimes,” Harry muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. He’d half-promised Ginny they would go shopping for Christmas presents today, but luckily Ginny had said she would probably be busy helping her mother decorate the Burrow, and the promise wasn’t firm. “And right now, I feel like being nice to them.”  
  
“Are you going to spend part of Christmas with them?” Hermione asked in a far too innocent tone. Harry glared at her, but she had a book up as a convenient shield. Uneasily, Harry noticed the title: _Bonds and Accidental Magic._  
  
“Of course not,” Harry said. “I mean—they’d want to be alone. And I already told Mrs. Weasley that I’d be over here.”  
  
“Why not bring them?” Butter wouldn’t have melted in Hermione’s mouth, from the way she spoke.  
  
Harry snorted before he could stop himself, in sheer incredulity. Then he rolled his eyes. The impact of the gesture was lost because Hermione still had the book up, but that didn’t stop him from making it. “Oh, yes, Hermione, I can see it now. Malfoy making polite conversation with Bill about the scars he caused by letting Greyback into the school. Snape doing his best to control his sneer as he listens to Mr. Weasley talk about Muggle things. Both of them seated around the table—oh, my God.” That vision was actually horrible enough to make Harry shudder. He shook his head. “It would never work.”  
  
Hermione sighed and lowered her book. “I’m worried about you, Harry,” she said, and from the way she looked down and traced a finger over the table and whispered, Harry knew it was the truth. The amusement she’d shown a moment ago was gone as though it had never existed. “It’s not good for you to keep the two halves of your life separate like this.”  
  
Harry tried to smile, though he had the feeling it didn’t reach his eyes. “You think my life is only divided in two? Your fractions are all wrong, Hermione. I’m Harry the Hero, and Harry the Trainee Auror, and Harry the Boyfriend, and Harry the Friend, and—”  
  
“You know what I _mean_.” Hermione glared at him.  
  
“When you express yourself that badly, I don’t have to listen.” Harry snatched up an apple from the bowl of fruit Mrs. Weasley kept in the middle of the table and grinned at her.   
  
“Bollocks,” Hermione snapped, which made Harry’s mouth fall open in surprise. “It’s just—I’m getting worried about the way you ignore Snape and Malfoy.” She shoved her book across the table at him.  
  
Harry looked down, resigned to more paragraphs of dense magical theory that he wouldn’t understand.  
  
To his surprise, this was by far the most readable of the books Hermione had shown him, though still dry. And it was the first one that had said anything specifically about accidental magic. He sat down as he read on.  
  
 _Bonds created by accidental magic are among the most unpredictable of bonds known to wizardkind. Each forms in unique circumstances, and therefore their purposes are hard to grasp. However, certain useful generalizations can be drawn from the many cases summarized in the first half of this book:  
  
One. Accidental magical bonds are always powerful. They will strive to accomplish their purposes to the best of their ability, no matter what stands in their way.   
  
Two. Accidental magical bonds seek_ optimization. _It is not enough for them, say, to guarantee merely the physical safety of the members of the bond, should they be formed in circumstances that demand the saving of a life. (See the case of Eva and Frederich M. earlier in this volume, in which the father wished desperately for his daughter to recover from a fatal case of dragonpox). They will work towards other forms of safety, so that the protected ones will not fall victim to mental illness, either, or wounds that would kill others. Likewise, those bonds that thrive on affection will seek to establish more than one kind of affection.  
  
Three. Accidental magical bonds are prevalent. They inevitably become the center of the bondmates’ lives; the bonded are the most important people in the world to each other. This can become problematic when, say, a child bonded to a parent grows up, and prevent normal relationships being formed with others._  
  
Harry looked up slowly, blinking. Hermione met his eyes and spoke quietly. “It’s the last part that I’m most worried about, Harry. I don’t want to see you tugged away from us by this bond. I think it would be a better idea to integrate Snape and Malfoy into the rest of your life, so you don’t feel you have to choose between them and us.” Her face softened. “Especially because, if the book is right, they would win.”  
  
Harry sat down and wiped his hand across his mouth. Then he closed his eyes and buried his head between his hands. “I feel like I’m going to throw up,” he whispered.  
  
There was a loud gasp, and Hermione conjured a basin and thrust it towards him. Harry held it under his mouth and breathed as hard as he could through the thick bile rising in his throat. When the temptation passed, he looked up at Hermione and gave a shallow, jerky nod.   
  
“Oh, Harry,” she said, reaching out to stroke his hair away from his forehead. _My unmarked forehead_ , Harry thought, and tamped down a bubble of hysterical laughter, _but just because my scar vanished doesn’t mean I’m free_. “Why?”  
  
“All my life,” Harry whispered, rubbing his fingers together, “I’ve had _something_ hanging over my head. Something I had to pay attention to, something I couldn’t do anything about. Voldemort, the prophecy, the fact that I was a wizard, the fact that the Dursleys hated me—it was always something. I tried to accept them or get rid of them. And when I thought I had, here comes the bond. And there’s no escaping this, and there’s no accepting it.”  
  
“I don’t think the last part is true,” Hermione whispered, taking his hand and squeezing. “I can understand why you don’t like being bonded to them against your will, but, Harry—maybe you’ll come to appreciate them like you appreciate Ron and me?”  
  
“Not even you can sound very hopeful about that,” Harry noted wryly. He took a few more deep breaths. The moment of weakness was passing.  
  
 _Merlin’s bloody balls_. Anger surged up and pushed the nausea away. _I hate it, but I’ll live with it. I hated the Dursleys, too, and most of the time I felt that living with them would never end. And I used to think that Voldemort would kill me, so I could never be free of him, either. But I adjusted to what the Dursleys did to me, and I adjusted to having Voldemort after me. I’ll adjust to this, too. I refuse to let it control my life._  
  
He stood up. “Well,” he said, “I’m off to keep a promise.”  
  
Hermione stood, and stared at him with something like hope in her eyes. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t do it after you learned about this,” she breathed.  
  
“No.” Harry shook his head and gestured violently at the book. “That’s—that’s horrible, and I wish I didn’t know it, but I _can’t_ let it influence the way I act towards Snape and Malfoy. In one way _or_ the other,” he added, when Hermione’s eyes widened. “I can’t ignore them and hope everything goes the way I want it to, because people still hate them and will attack them. And it’s worth being friends with people I’ll have to live with. I’ve been in the opposite situation,” and he was thinking again of the Dursleys. “But I won’t abandon you for them, either.”  
  
“There’s the other problematic part of what the book says,” Hermione said, sounding as if she were trying to break bad news to him gently.  
  
“What’s that?” Harry tapped the side of his head, hoping that would still the whirring, and then grimaced at himself. _It’s not worth throwing up over. Nothing is, except maybe that photograph of a baby mauled by a werewolf that Ledbetter showed to you the other day._  
  
“That the bonds seek optimization,” said Hermione. “And that that’s particularly true of bonds that demand some degree of affection.” _No wonder she’ll study law_ , Harry thought. _Big words sound natural in her mouth already_. “I can’t imagine a better candidate for that kind of bond than one that actually feeds on emotions. So you’ll probably become closer to Snape and Malfoy, and—and maybe they’ll want more of you than just friendship.” By the end, her face was bright red.  
  
Harry stared at her, then snorted. “Good guess,” he said dryly, “except that they already have each other for that.”  
  
Hermione blinked, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “You mean—they—the two of _them_?”  
  
Harry nodded. “And I have Ginny,” he said. “So I don’t think the bond would demand something like that. Why would it? It already brought Snape and Malfoy together.” _And I do have to try and be more polite to Snape, because Draco likes him, or loves him, and he seems not to do badly by Draco_. “That ought to be enough for it.”  
  
Hermione took a deep breath that seemed to blow most of the concern out of her. “Ought to be, but maybe won’t be,” she said. “Maybe you’ll become lovers with them, Harry.”  
  
“Three people together is ridiculous,” Harry said. “I don’t care,” he added when Hermione opened her mouth to argue with him, “it just _is_. Maybe novels talk about that, but real people don’t work that way.” He was delighted to see a faint flush climb Hermione’s cheeks. _I was right, and she is reading romance novels! She’d probably say it was “part of her education in wizarding culture” or some such_. “And I won’t let worry over the bond make any difference to me. I’ll still treat them in a friendly manner, and I’ll still go out with Ginny. It ought to be possible.”  
  
“Of course it should be,” said a bright voice from the kitchen doorway, and Ginny popped her head in. “Why wouldn’t it be?”  
  
Harry smiled at her, but then her eyes flitted away from him, and he felt a little ache in his belly. Lately, something seemed to be bothering Ginny. But whenever Harry asked what it was, and offered to talk with her in private, she smiled bravely and insisted that nothing was wrong. Harry had at last given up asking.  
  
 _I don’t want to lose her._   
  
Maybe everything wasn’t perfect, maybe they sometimes argued and he sometimes had the feeling that she was staring over his shoulder at the wall and was bored with him, but so what? Whoever had said that any relationship was perfect? Maybe his parents’ marriage had been, but they’d only been together for four years before they died. He and Ginny had the rest of their lives to work out their problems.  
  
“Of course it will be,” Harry said, and resolved to sound as bright and cheerful as she did. “I promised Snape and Malfoy I’d go look for a house in Hogsmeade with them, Gin. That’s all right, isn’t it?”   
  
Ginny hesitated, looking at him. Then she whispered something. Harry, straining his ears, thought it was, “What would happen if I said no?”  
  
But then another smile marched across her face, and she flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “’Course, Harry. I promised Mum I’d help her decorate, anyway.”  
  
And then she turned and bounced out of the kitchen, leaving Harry staring after her. He glanced at Hermione, wondering if she would say something. “I think she’s upset,” he said. “But I’ve done everything I can think of to make her happy. What would work?”  
  
Hermione put her hands over his. “If I knew that,” she said gently, “Ron and I would never argue again. The only thing I can say is: don’t ignore her. If she asks you to spend time with her that you haven’t promised to Snape and Malfoy, then spend it with her. Come for dinner as much as you can. Show that you appreciate her.”  
  
“I’ll try,” Harry said. “I never was very good at that kind of thing.”  
  
Then he remembered again that he had the rest of his life to get better at it, and smiled. He could actually set out to meet Snape and Draco again in a cheerful mood.  
  
*  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. Maybe Harry, deeply involved in an argument with Severus over the merits of a house with a pre-prepared potions lab, didn’t notice, but Draco did.  
  
All the eyes that followed them. All the muttering that chased them. The way that some people dared to look in a hostile way at Harry, as if he were somehow tainted just by being with Draco and Severus.  
  
Draco suffered a momentary urge to flinch. There were more of these people than there were of the three of them. They might hurt him as badly as Pepperfield had, with the Scalding Arch Curse. Though Harry had healed the pain completely, Draco was still not fond of the memory of the few minutes he’d spent under it.  
  
But then he remembered that if he flinched now he would be flinching all his life, when he entered considerably larger arenas than Hogsmeade—the way he wanted to. So he put up his head and walked on, his eyes focused straight ahead, not _openly_ watching the envious and idiotic hordes. That would be granting them a dignity they didn’t deserve.  
  
 _I have my life. I didn’t die at the Dark Lord’s hands. I won’t be a slave or a coward_.  
  
Harry shook his head at last, rolled his eyes, and said, “Fine, I’ll ask about one with a pre-prepared Potions lab, just to put a stop to your _whinging_ ,” and vanished into the house of the woman who knew all the properties for sale in Hogsmeade. Draco was surprised to see Severus look after him with a faint smile on his lips, instead of the deadly scowl that the “whining” comment once would have provoked.  
  
Or maybe…not all that surprised.  
  
Draco stepped close to Severus. “Have you noticed the hostility directed at us?” he murmured. “It might get worse if we live here.”  
  
Severus glanced around with the air of an eagle being asked to notice crows. “Of course it will,” he said. “Briefly. Then they will see that their precious Chosen One is living with us, and they will have to reverse their opinions. I predict an equally brief period of mindless adulation and attempting to court our favor.” He sniffed. “And then they will settle back in mingled wonder and confusion, and we can lead something like a normal life.”  
  
Draco laughed in spite of himself. “Have you thought about what you’d like to do for Christmas?” he asked, slipping an arm around Severus’s waist. That earned him more stares. Draco stared back at the rudest person, a woman with two children beside her, and she flushed and turned away at last. “Mother might welcome us to the Manor, now that I think about something other than Potter day and night.”  
  
Severus slowly inclined his head. “A night in the Manor would be…acceptable.”  
  
“Good.” Draco leaned his head on his shoulder so that he could murmur in Severus’s ear. Some things he was willing to commit to the censure of public opinion, and some he wasn’t. “I can’t wait until I can fuck you in my own bed. It’ll put paid to every one of my pale teenage fantasies. I never imagined anything like what you did to me last night.”  
  
Someone would have to know Severus very well indeed to see that the dark fire burning in his eyes was pleasure, rather than contempt. He snorted a bit. Then he said, “I would also not be averse to further experiment. But please, Draco, spare me stories of your childhood. I saw more than enough of it to content me.”  
  
Draco laughed, but not for long when he saw the subtle way Severus’s face stiffened. Severus still hated to be reminded of the age gap between them, Draco knew, and appeared to regard himself sometimes as if he were an old man preying on a child.  
  
Draco didn’t understand that, frankly. He knew he would never fit in comfortably with someone of his own age. They were trying to bury their experiences during the war, or they hadn’t suffered like he had.   
  
Draco wasn’t interested in doing that for the sake of some bright new summer of the future. The things that marked him _had_ happened, and he would use the memories to strengthen himself and as a warning against ever becoming involved in anything like the Death Eaters again. He didn’t want to marry and have children, the way Pansy was already doing. He didn’t want to retreat into the safety of his family home and never come out again, the way Theodore had done. He didn’t want to flee to another country, like Blaise. Britain was his home, and he intended to make a stand there. Severus, and Harry in a lesser way—so far—were part of his life. Why deny them?  
  
But one of the things that would make Britain a _comfortable_ home was humoring Severus’s little fancies, so Draco stopped laughing and patted Severus’s shoulder. “I know,” he said. “I promise that I won’t make you relive any Potions classes.”  
  
“Particularly not ones with Longbottom involved.” Severus shuddered, his voice sounding dipped in acid.   
  
Draco leaned heavily against Severus, and he slipped an arm around Draco’s shoulders in response. Draco was still the one who had to initiate the kiss, however. Severus was oddly shy about demonstrating affection in public.  
  
It took less than a moment before the incredulous, offended stares faded from his notice. Severus had improved at kissing in the weeks since they started sleeping together. He had a wonderful manner of _filling_ Draco’s mouth with his tongue in a way that still allowed him to breathe and not choke.  
  
Someone coughed, and Draco pulled away from Severus’s lips to look about. Harry, flushed and wearing a faint grin, stood politely looking away, whilst the bond surged with bright red fireflies of embarrassment. Draco licked his lips and thought about leaning in for another kiss, but Severus stepped stiffly away from him. Draco kept the arm around his waist, and raised his eyebrows at Harry.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Three houses have a pre-prepared potions lab, and the owners are looking into selling them.” Harry addressed the list he held more than the two of them. Luckily, he seemed to have overcome his mumbling habit. Draco refused to have a lover who mumbled. “One in the center of Hogsmeade, two on the outskirts—”  
  
“The one in the center may be discarded,” Severus said, his voice cool. Draco closed his mouth, which he had opened to say the same thing.  
  
Harry snapped his head up and stared at them incredulously. “Come _on_ , Snape. Are you going to run away from your enemies forever? You should—”  
  
“Living on a day-to-day basis with slighter protection than you have,” Severus said harshly, “and with, in the case of a house in the center of Hogsmeade, more neighbors, makes one consider many matters of simple practicality.”  
  
Harry shifted his gaze to Draco, but Draco looked back and nodded. He intended to make people accept him—eventually. That was no reason to run stupid risks, as a house in the center of the village would be.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, but turned and led them away in silence. Draco and Severus followed, Severus walking slowly enough that Draco could keep his arm in place without effort.  
  
The fools around them would not know how profound an interest and affection that bespoke. Draco would rejoice in his private knowledge.  
  
*  
  
From the moment he saw the second house, Severus knew this was the place.  
  
It was two times larger than Spinner’s End, but not sprawling, not taking up space in the wasteful way that Malfoy Manor did. There were two rooms on the second floor fitted as bedrooms, and far enough apart that Potter need not be disturbed by the sound of Severus’s and Draco’s activities. A bathroom was off one bedroom, and Potter volunteered at once to move into the other. Severus wondered idly how much of that was due to Gryffindor nobility and how much to the fact that the bedroom at the front of the house had a large window, taking up more than half the eastern wall.   
  
The first floor contained another bathroom, two rooms that the present owner appeared to be using as pure storage space and which might easily serve that function or as studies when they moved in, and a wood-paneled, empty room that Severus patrolled with an approving nod. He would never match Minerva’s skill in Transfiguration, but he knew enough to easily shape the walls into shelves; this would be the library.  
  
The ground floor was the largest, and held a kitchen, two private eating and sitting areas, and a room with an odd tiled floor that appeared to have been used as an aviary in a circle beyond the entrance hall.  
  
And the potions lab.  
  
Severus opened the door with a reverent hand. The owner, who had gone to the Continent to seek better treatment for a war injury than St. Mungo’s could afford him, had of course taken all his ingredients with him, but Severus knew expert care when he saw it. The shelves were numerous and of varied kinds: flat and plain for boxes, covered with notches for vials, full of the round depressions that were best for stacking cauldrons. And the shelves were even of different materials. Severus approved. Not everyone knew that metal, stone, _and_ wood were necessary for a lab because potions ingredients sometimes reacted badly to being placed in contact with one or the other.  
  
The shelves were at eye level. Cabinets and cupboards crowded the walls at knee height, for the storing of ingredients used less often. They, too, were of metal, stone, and wood. And in the center of the immense room were a number of tables, including a Taylor Transfigured Jointing-Table, which Severus examined with slightly trembling fingers. The table could be sized appropriately at the tap of a wand, and had a “memory,” such that it would automatically Summon the last cauldron and ingredients one had worked with when used.   
  
“The owner said that anything left in the house is for us,” Potter said.  
  
Severus started. He had not heard Potter enter the room, and was unnerved to think that he might have been caught staring dreamily at the table. He turned around and tried to make his voice harsh in compensation. “You are sure of this?”  
  
Potter leaned on the door of the potions lab, and his faint smile refused to waver, though he redistributed his weight when Severus moved a step closer to him, a step that could have been threatening. “I’m sure,” he said. “I asked Mrs. Redberry, and she gave me the instructions the owner left. He didn’t want to take a lot with him. It reminded him too much of his old life, he said.”  
  
“He was a fool not to take _this_ ,” Severus said under his breath, and turned back to the Taylor Table, to see if another claim about it was true. Yes; a single brush of his wand from the wooden side to the stone side was enough to extend the wood or the stone in a long swathe, and then to transform it back again when the wand passed the other way.  
  
Though he had not meant it to happen, Potter overheard him. “Yes, it looks like that from the way you’re regarding it, sir,” he said calmly. Neutrally.   
  
Severus turned to regard him. That same neutrality had been behind everything Potter said to him this morning, even the arguments. He was moving as cautiously as possible in the way he treated Severus.  
  
Whilst Severus reckoned that caution better than hostility, it was still not like his relationship with Draco or Potter’s friendliness with Draco, either of which he would have preferred. And it was clear that it would be up to him to change matters. Potter would not risk exposing himself to the ridicule he still thought Severus likely to heap upon him.  
  
“My name is Severus,” he said, quietly but emphatically.  
  
A wrinkle crossed Potter’s brow. “I know that, sir.”  
  
Severus experienced actual physical pain from holding back the comment on Potter’s intelligence that rose to his lips. “I _meant_ ,” he said after a moment, “that you should call me by that name.”  
  
He was unprepared for the way Potter’s eyes flashed and the bond heated like iron plunged into fire, his temper rising to the surface for the first time in several days. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “And then I suppose that you’ll call _me_ by _my_ first name, instead of choking on it? I know that you won’t,” he added bitterly, instead of allowing Severus to get a word in edgewise. “You enjoy the sound of my last name too much. It reminds you of my father and all your old injuries, and allows you to go on mumbling over them and chewing on them and brooding over them—”   
  
Severus had done harder things than speaking the word he said next, in a low tone that undercut Potter’s blathering, but he could not remember them at the moment.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
Potter caught his breath, and stared at him, his words dying away into nothing. Then he narrowed his eyes. “That was just once,” he said.  
  
“Harry. Harry. Harry,” Severus said, lightly, half-mockingly. “I could go on, but when one repeats a word so often, it tends to dissolve into nonsense,” he added. “And I do not want that to happen.”  
  
He did not realize the impact that his last words would have on Potter until after he said them. Potter swallowed convulsively, eyes never leaving him. Severus stared back, fascinated in spite of himself. He thought he had lost the last chance of seeing eyes that color look at him with anything other than hatred after his seventh year.  
  
Then Potter looked away, seeming to wrench himself free of Severus’s gaze with a physical effort, and nodded. “All right,” he said. “Severus. I reckon I can do that much,” he added in a choked tone, “for Draco’s sake.”  
  
And he left the lab before Severus could reassure him that it was not only for Draco’s sake that he wished to hear the name.  
  
It was then, standing alone in the potions lab of his new home as he had stood alone in the old one when he came to his epiphany about Potter needing genuine emotions from him, that he blinked, realizing what he had just done.   
  
_That was genuine. I didn’t calculate. I acted only on what I wanted, what I would like to have, and what I saw in Potter’s eyes._   
  
For the first time in two decades, Severus had done something new to himself.  
  
And, he thought as he braced himself with a hand on the Taylor Table, he could stand doing it more often.  
  
*  
  
Harry took a step outside the house and gulped in a deep breath of the cold winter air, hoping that would clear his head of the mist that seemed to have clouded it during the conversation with—Severus. That conversation had seemed awfully and solemnly important, instead of simply an agreement between two adults who probably should have agreed with each other a lot earlier.  
  
 _For Draco’s sake.  
  
But he said it wasn’t only for Draco’s sake._  
  
Harry shook his head impatiently and moved a few steps away from the house, smiling faintly as he heard Draco’s whoop of joy from the study, or the room that would be the study. He’d probably discovered a hidden tunnel or something else of vast importance to a Slytherin.  
  
 _It sounded important to him.  
  
But I can’t allow it to be that important to me._   
  
Harry paused, a new thought blowing through his head like the wind whirling snowflakes along beside him.  
  
 _Why, though? Why would it really matter if—Severus, damn it—did care about whether you said his first name, instead of joking around and pretending to care?_  
  
Harry sighed. _It doesn’t matter, not really. I’m letting something bother me that shouldn’t._   
  
He dismissed the thought from his mind with a physical shove, and turned to more important matters. They would need to go back to Mrs. Redberry and negotiate the price of the house. The money would come mostly from Harry’s vaults, of course, probably the Black vaults, but he knew that—Severus—and Draco would insist on paying what they could. They would hate to be regarded as charity cases.  
  
And then he would sneak back to Hogsmeade after he took Severus and Draco to Spinner’s End, so that he could find Christmas presents they might like. And a Christmas present from Ginny, which he had put off until the last because he wanted it to be special.  
  
Severus and Draco’s gifts would be delivered by owl. Harry had decided he should do that much.  
  
 _I’ll do a lot for them. But not everything. I don’t see how anyone could accuse me of ignoring or neglecting them or the bond if I give them part of my attention and not the whole.  
  
There_ are _other people in my life._  
  
It was of one in particular—red-haired, bright-eyed, and hard to understand—that Harry was thinking as he wandered back into the house to the sound of Draco’s shout.


	7. Chapter 7

  
“Happy Christmas, Ginny!” Harry held out the brightly-wrapped package in his hands and hoped that his smile didn’t appear _too_ nervous. He should appear excited that he was giving a present to his girlfriend, not like he wanted to throw up.  
  
Never mind that he was close to that last feeling. Ginny had spent most of Christmas Eve avoiding him; whenever Harry tried to make an excuse to drag her over to the mistletoe, she was chatting to Bill instead, or arguing with Fleur about baby names, or laughing at some story of dragons Charlie was telling.   
  
And it wasn’t that Harry resented the time she spent with her family. Really, it wasn’t. But the conviction that something was wrong weighed more heavily on him than ever, and he would have liked some sign from her that he didn’t have to worry.  
  
Ginny smiled, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and took the gift from him. Harry hoped he was the only one close enough, in the crowded room filled with people and presents, to see the wideness of her eyes and the slight tremble in her fingers. He bit his lip, second-guessing the present he’d chosen.   
  
But he’d seen Ginny looking at them with wistful eyes one weekend when he met her in Hogsmeade, and then turning away with her head lifted. Like Ron, she had a bad case of pride where money was concerned, and she wouldn’t want anyone to suspect that she was longing after something that she couldn’t afford.  
  
The paper crinkled as Ginny unwrapped the gift, and then there was a little silence as she opened the box. Harry discovered he had his eyes shut. He shook his head at his own cowardice—Ledbetter would ask him sardonically how he could face Dark wizards if he couldn’t even stand _this_ —and then looked at Ginny.  
  
She was staring at him with an expression of wonder on her face as she lifted the new Quidditch gloves out of the box. They were worked with spells that allowed them to fit any owner’s hands and maintain a firm grip on any broom, so Harry hadn’t worried about buying them too big. He’d been more interested in making sure the color of the leather—soft and butter-yellow—was right, and the embroidery of flying harpies around the bottom. The embroidery showed the gloves had been designed after what the Captain of the Holyhead Harpies usually wore.  
  
“How did you know I wanted them?” Ginny murmured to him, hardly opening her lips. No one noticed the words, Harry thought, because they were crowding around to admire the gift and Ron was enviously declaring that the present Harry’d got him, a pair of dragonhide boots, wasn’t half as good. “No one else did.”  
  
Harry was relaxed enough by then to smile at her. “You’re my girlfriend, after all,” he said. “I should know what you like.”  
  
A sad shadow, or at least a strange one, flitted across Ginny’s face. But she reached out, grasped his shoulders, and drew him into a strong kiss for the first time since he’d begun the visit. Harry kissed her back, feeling more relief than desire for the moment.  
  
“Thank you,” Ginny whispered when they drew apart.  
  
Harry gently touched her cheek. “It was my pleasure.” He dropped his voice; Ron and Charlie were arguing over whether dragon leather should be used for any purpose, even making boots and gloves, but the rest of the family was quiet now, watching the two brothers in amusement. “Could we—could I spend some time with you later tonight?”  
  
And the shadow burned away as Ginny gave him a saucy wink. “That might be possible,” she said, before she turned around to reclaim the gloves from Ron.  
  
Harry leaned back against the couch and beamed. At the moment, it seemed there was the possibility of a Happy Christmas for absolutely everyone.  
  
*  
  
“And my old ones were not good enough for you to use, is that it?” Draco was close enough to Severus by now to know that the slightly less sarcastic tone in his voice than usual was his idea of teasing, but he was still glad that he could look into his eyes and see the deeply-buried gleam of amusement there. “That is what this note implies, at least.” He held up the piece of parchment that had been tucked in with the golden cauldron, but was too absorbed in the cauldron itself to pay much attention to Draco’s response.  
  
“I just thought you should have the best,” Draco said innocently. “And _maybe_ , sometimes, when you’re not using it, there might be the faintest fleeting temptation for me to use it to brew one of the potions I need.”  
  
Severus nodded to the pile of books behind Draco, on both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. “Maybe? Sometimes?”  
  
“As my research deepens, that might be more often than it has been so far,” Draco agreed in a thoughtful tone. He moved closer to Severus, who sat in a wing-backed chair that distant relatives usually occupied during a Malfoy Christmas celebration, when those distant relatives were invited to the Manor as charity. Draco’s mother had quietly removed Lucius’s old chair from the room. Draco understood and agreed with the decision. “Would you disapprove?” He dropped his voice to a whisper.   
  
“I cannot say that it would,” Severus whispered back, “especially if it leads to us spending more time together, in the lab or otherwise.”   
  
Draco wanted to collapse in a smug pile. There was a time when Severus would _never_ have said such a thing, and he knew it.   
  
Instead, he tilted his head back and let Severus control the kiss between them for the moment. Draco had been the insistent one in bed last night—a fact Severus was probably reminded of every time he shifted his weight. Draco understood the dynamics of the relationship between them better than Severus gave him credit for, he thought, and he knew that letting his lover gain the upper hand at times was the best idea.  
  
 _At times_.  
  
A quiet cough interrupted them. Severus tensed as if he would whip his head away, but Draco placed a firm hand behind his neck and ensured the kiss ended naturally. Then he turned around and raised an eyebrow at his mother. “Yes?”  
  
Narcissa stood in the doorway that led to the small side-room where the house-elves had placed the food, two owls balanced on her shoulders. She looked at Severus and Draco with no judgment in her face. Draco felt Severus’s hand tense on his arm, then relax. He had probably realized, as Draco had, that of course his mother would sense any relationship between them immediately, and would already have objected if she had objections.  
  
“Owls for you,” said Narcissa. “From a person I did not expect to show up to these festivities, no matter how much his absence was felt.”  
  
Draco’s first thought was Lucius, but then he remembered that he had already received a gift from that direction: unlimited access to the Malfoy vaults, which, until the legal permission had arrived, had still belonged to Lucius. It was his father’s tacit acknowledgment that he was unlikely to leave Azkaban whilst he lived.  
  
And, of course, a way to ensure that no one in Azkaban itself could force him to give up his money due to blackmail.  
  
“Who?” he asked, and then one of the owls left his mother’s shoulder and soared over to land on his. It was a generic post owl, and the package was light and wrapped in plain brown paper, so Draco wasn’t expecting much when he turned it over.  
  
 _Happy Christmas, Draco. Harry._  
  
Draco blinked several times. Then he raised his hands and mechanically tore the package open, thinking all the while that he hadn’t bothered to get anything for Harry. He had just assumed that of _course_ they wouldn’t exchange gifts. That was something friends or family or lovers did, and none of those descriptions fit what the bonds had made them.  
  
But inside was a gift that Draco could use and not simply something that Harry had chosen to gratify his own sentimental inclinations. The shrunken bookshelf carried a tag that explained it would grow larger when a certain incantation was uttered.   
  
A note fluttered out of the package, and Draco stooped down to pick it up, still feeling emotionally distant from what he was doing.  
  
 _Happy Christmas, Draco_ , it said again, in the sloppy handwriting that Draco had seen before when he glanced over at Harry’s papers in Potions. _I know that the new house has walls that the Great Git plans to turn into shelves, but his books will probably crowd out yours. And he shouldn’t have to do all the work! This is just for you_.  
  
Draco put the bookshelf slowly on the floor. Then he sat down next to it and shook his head.  
  
“From Potter?” Severus’s voice was unusually sharp. Draco looked up to see that the other owl Narcissa had carried in had flown to him, and that he was unwrapping what looked like a stirring rod.  
  
Draco caught his breath. The rod, like the cauldron he’d got Severus, was made of gold. There were few potions that required stirring only with gold, but some of them were the most powerful and dangerous potions, and, like the cauldron, this was something Severus could not have afforded on his own. He would have had to simply wait until time had passed and people were no longer as suspicious of him, whilst brewing the potions only in his mind.  
  
 _And he would have hated that._  
  
Harry, whether he realized it or not, had given Severus a gift that would free his hands and his imagination in the same instant—and he had given gifts, by simple coincidence, that worked well with what Severus and Draco had got each other.  
  
Draco had to close his eyes so that he didn’t do something stupid and sentimental, like stare into Severus’s eyes and expect a silent answer to his silent question. But the thought went on repeating in his head, anyway, where no one else could hear and mock it.  
  
 _Do you see how well we fit together?  
  
This is only one instance_ , Draco reminded himself immediately. _Even if we do fit together once, it would take a lot of work to make it happen all the time. And Harry probably chose the gifts at random, thinking about what we would like. It’s not like he knew that I was getting Severus a gold cauldron. He got the bookshelf for me because he knew I was doing research, not because he knew Severus was buying books. He hasn’t asked that many questions or paid such close attention._   
  
But it had happened anyway. And the fact that it had happened gave Draco some hope that it could happen again.   
  
“Draco.”  
  
Draco opened his eyes and turned his head. He had not expected his mother to interrupt this private moment. She could _see_ that it was private, from the way Severus stroked the golden stirring rod and the expression on Draco’s face, couldn’t she?  
  
“Have you sent him a gift in return?” Narcissa inquired, folding her hands sternly in front of her and staring at him with an equally stern eye.  
  
Draco swallowed. Suddenly, his automatic omission of Harry from his gift list seemed like a larger sin than before.  
  
“There wasn’t…” He trailed off feebly. His mother’s face became sharper and sharper with disapproval. “I mean, we didn’t know that he was going to do this.” He gestured between them, and at the gifts. Severus peered from beneath his curtain of hair at Narcissa, only half his face visible.  
  
“Whether you knew or not,” Narcissa said, her voice soft and reverberating at the same time, “you should have sent him a gift. It is the _polite_ thing to do for someone who saved your life.” She paused, whilst Draco wriggled in embarrassment and guilt, feeling all of six years old again.   
  
“I hope that the thank-you notes are at least lavish,” Narcissa said, and lifted her nose, and walked out of the room. Draco looked at the floor.  
  
“We shall have to find gifts, yes,” Severus said, at last. He reached out and lifted Draco’s chin. “I am equally guilty in not sending Potter—Harry—a gift. But we will find one, Draco. And do you realize what this means?” His eyes were bright as his face could never be, because he wouldn’t permit that to happen. “He will fit with us. The task is not hopeless.”  
  
Not able to explain why he so needed it, Draco lifted his head for another kiss, and Severus obliged eagerly.   
  
At the moment, if Harry had appeared in front of him, Draco thought he could almost have granted him the same kind of kiss.  
  
*  
  
Severus opened his eyes in shock, and gave a small hiss. He didn’t understand what could have awakened him from a sound sleep, made all the sounder by the energetic sex he and Draco had undertaken before they climbed into bed. He lay still for a moment, his eyes moving in slow circles. It was not impossible that one of the Malfoys’ numerous enemies had managed to get through the wards surrounding the Manor.  
  
Then he understood. The current of Potter’s feelings that continually passed through him had gone silent. It took more effort to miss something that was no longer there than something new which had intruded.  
  
Severus shook his head, sending his hair cascading down the side of his neck. Draco lay breathing peacefully beside him. Obviously, the shutting of the bond had not caused either of them immediate health problems.  
  
 _Had Potter died?_  
  
No. From everything Severus had read in the past few books, he was virtually certain they would have felt the death, and in a way that would bring Draco screaming up from sleep and begging Severus to stop the pain.  
  
Far more likely, Potter had encountered a circumstance that urged him to shut the bond for a time. And given that he was young, was spending Christmas with the Weasleys, and had not returned to join them for the night…  
  
Severus uncurled his fingers and stared at the ceiling. _He closed the bond so that he could have sex in privacy, without us overhearing him._  
  
It was certainly a reasonable desire. Severus made himself consider it from the point of view of a bond-holder. If Severus had wielded control of the phoenix marks and not the other way around, he would not have wanted Potter to join in vicariously when he and Draco were in bed.  
  
And he had no right to feel jealous. He and Potter were not lovers yet, and might never be, even if Draco and Potter became so—something Severus thought more and more likely, from the soft tone of voice in Draco’s voice when he mentioned Potter, and the way that Potter had watched Draco explore their new home with indulgent rolls of his eyes.  
  
But jealousy was there in any case.  
  
Severus closed his eyes. He faced a dilemma that even his new commitment to genuine feelings where Potter was concerned did not help. Did he show the jealousy, because it was honest? Or did he keep it concealed, because Potter was likely to think the emotion ridiculous and jeer at him for it?  
  
 _I despise not knowing what to do._  
  
Severus took a slow, deep breath, and then turned to the side. Draco lay sleeping on his pillow, face turned towards him and one hand stretched out; Severus thought it had likely slipped off his shoulder when he awakened. Draco lacked expression in sleep, looking blank and unmolded. Severus touched the back of his head, moved his fingers through his hair, and watched as Draco briefly stirred and then lapsed back into sleep.  
  
He had come through the war, marked, like Potter, but less changed—and certainly less marked than Severus himself. He would have leaped awake at the slightest touch in such a vulnerable place as the back of the head. Draco thought that was marvelous. That was because he did not fully understand the experiences that had produced such a reaction.  
  
 _There is a third person to consider here. Would expressing my jealousy help or hurt Draco?_  
  
Severus bared his teeth. He did not know _that_ , either, but the only course that suggested itself to him was to wait and talk it over with Draco in the morning. After all, he might have jealousies of his own, and good reasons for expressing and not expressing them.  
  
 _I also despise abiding by the decisions of others._   
  
But he could _do_ it. His experience under both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore had proven that.  
  
Draco made a sleepy murmur and buried his head in Severus’s shoulder, snuffling. The sound should have made Severus curl his lip in disgust. He made every effort to keep his lab clean and himself free from sickness, as the slightest addition of an alien living organism could damage many potions.  
  
Now he found himself drawing Draco closer and bowing his head so that his nose rested against his cheek. Draco made another snuffle, this time contented.  
  
And Severus began to glimpse, dimly, why his overwhelming resentment of his slavery under the Dark Mark was missing from the way he regarded Draco and Potter.   
  
_I may learn not to despise accepting limitations, when they lead to such rewards._   
  
*  
  
Harry blinked and yawned, opening his eyes. He frowned when he realized that he didn’t recognize the ceiling of his bedroom.  
  
Then he remembered how he’d spent yesterday evening, and turned to the side so that he could see Ginny. She slept flat on her stomach, her mouth slightly open as though she wanted to let her dreams out through her lips.  
  
Harry stared down at her, then closed his eyes and sighed. Last night had not been as wonderful as the first time they made love, and he didn’t understand why. Of course, there was no law saying every time had to be the same, but…  
  
It should have been more than that.  
  
And what frustrated him was that he couldn’t even articulate what he meant, what “more” he was seeking.  
  
Harry bit his lip and opened the bonds again so that Sn— _Severus_ and Draco could feel his emotions. It was probably all right to keep them shut out for a few hours, but he didn’t want to meet them at Spinner’s End later with them fainting and convulsing, or, worse, have to invade Malfoy Manor because they couldn’t move to meet him.  
  
Ginny still slept. From the sounds of it, so did most of the Burrow. Harry could sneak back to Ron’s room, where he slept in a spare bed Transfigured from cushions, and no one would see him. Since half the Weasley family seemed determined to pretend that Ginny would never grow up and the other half that she would never have sex until she was married, that would probably be the best plan.  
  
But Harry lingered on, using his finger to trace the shape of Ginny’s lips and eyelids. She was perfectly lovely. She was young. She was healthy. She either loved him or liked him a lot. And Harry had to like her, or he would never have agreed to have sex with her. God knew he had plenty of practice in refusing proposals, given the owls that some witches still sent him.  
  
 _Why isn’t that enough, damn it_? He’d been sure it would be enough just a few days ago, when he talked with Hermione and thought about spending the rest of his life with Ginny.  
  
And he didn’t know what he would want to do _differently.  
  
Maybe I want something perfect, something that can never happen. And if that’s true, it’s not fair to blame Ginny when she falls short of it._  
  
Harry sighed under his breath and reached out to push Ginny’s hair away from her face. This time, the touch made her start and open her eyes, although Harry hadn’t meant to wake her up. Ginny smiled tentatively when she saw him, and sat up, hugging the sheet around her breasts. Harry thought that was silly when they’d seen each other both naked for the second time, but he didn’t want to make Ginny feel ridiculous, so he didn’t say anything.  
  
“Hi, Harry,” she said. “What time is it?”  
  
Harry performed a wandless _Tempus_ Charm without even thinking. It was something he’d got used to doing, small wandless spells, since he performed the spell that would let him share magic with everyone in the bond. “Eight-o’clock,” he said. “I thought for sure your mum would be up by now.” He tried out a small smile.  
  
Ginny laughed. “Mum says we can find our own breakfast on Boxing Day,” she said. “Only day of the year _that_ happens.”   
  
Harry laughed with her. Then the laughter faded, and they sat there feeling awkward—or at least Harry did. He drew in a deep breath and snorted it out through his nose, telling himself that this _wasn’t_ stupid, or a sign that he and Ginny were wrong for each other. Everyone probably felt a little awkward on the morning after.  
  
“Er,” he said at last, “I reckon I ought to get back to Ron’s bedroom before he starts suspecting something’s wrong.” He stood up and peeled back the sheets slowly. Ginny blushed and looked away.  
  
“If he’s in there to suspect something,” Ginny murmured. Her voice was wicked, at least, a sharp contrast to her brilliant red cheeks. “I distinctly thought I saw him sneaking into Hermione’s room last night before we shut the door.”  
  
Harry laughed again, and relaxed. _No, nothing’s perfect. But I don’t think we’re expecting too much of each other, and we’ll get used to this_. “Hermione’s the little hypocrite, then,” he said, “giving me lectures on being careful and being _sure_ of what I want until I get married.”  
  
Ginny looked up abruptly, her eyes wide and wounded in a way Harry hadn’t known they could look. Ginny seemed so strong most of the time, except about whatever secret she was keeping from Harry. “She lectured you? Why?”  
  
Harry blinked, but decided the best thing he could do would be to answer right away and truthfully. Ginny thought there was something wrong with this, obviously, but Harry didn’t know why, and he didn’t want to get Hermione in trouble. “Because she said that lots of times, people don’t know what they really want before they get married. Marriage is a big step, and so it’s natural to fool around before then and make mistakes.” Harry rolled his eyes. “If people make _that_ many mistakes, I don’t see why she thinks marriage cures everything.”  
  
“Oh,” Ginny breathed out, and closed her eyes. “I thought she might have been talking about…your bond.”  
  
Harry blinked again. “What would the bond have to do with my marrying you? I don’t see why we would have to invite Snape and Malfoy to the wedding if you didn’t want them there.”  
  
Ginny’s smile was faint, and died quickly. She reached out, squeezed Harry’s hand, and then let it fall again. “I just don’t want to lose you to them,” she said. “And Hermione’s read a lot, and she has a different perspective on the bond than Ron does. Or I do,” she said, so softly Harry could hardly hear her. “She—thinks that you _must_ be lovers with them eventually.” She peeked at Harry from beneath a strand of hair.  
  
Harry felt his jaw fall open. Then he rolled his eyes. “No wonder she’s acted so strangely when she talked about it,” he said. “But that’s ridiculous, Ginny. Snape and Malfoy are already together, and I’m not attracted to them, not like that.”  
  
“Do you find men attractive?” Ginny’s face was so red it looked like a tomato, but she kept her eyes fastened on Harry’s.  
  
Harry cupped her chin. “I find _you_ attractive. And only you.”  
  
When Ginny smiled and kissed him, Harry knew he’d finally given the right answer.  
  
*  
  
Draco felt his shoulders tighten as Harry stepped through the front door of Spinner’s End, his wand already flicking to lift several heavier pieces of furniture. That was partially because Draco didn’t know if the gift he’d chosen would be good enough for whatever exaggerated standards of presents Harry might have.  
  
But most of the tension came from the slender, red-haired figure who walked along beside Harry, and cast Draco a nervous, defiant glance.  
  
She turned away almost at once to float a few trunks, packed with books, into the air, but the damage had been done.  
  
Draco strode up to Harry and spoke in a harsh whisper, not really caring if the She-Weasel overheard them. “What is _she_ doing here?”  
  
Harry offered him a helpless little shrug and a tiny roll of the eyes, after a glance over his shoulder to take in his girlfriend’s position. That reassured Draco; it pointed to friction between them and hinted that this had not been Harry’s idea. “She wanted to come and help,” Harry said simply. “And it’s an extra pair of hands and some extra magic. Why should I have objected?”  
  
He mumbled the last words, though, and avoided Draco’s gaze.  
  
Draco turned and met Severus’s eyes above Harry’s head. He could see his own conclusion written plainly in his lover’s tight, blank expression. They could not give the gifts they had chosen to Harry in front of an audience. She would mock them at best, and put a wrong impression on it at worst.  
  
Or maybe the _right_ impression. Draco wanted to avoid that, too. The mere existence of Harry’s girlfriend was competition enough. What could happen if she thought she had _reason_ to push herself between them and demand answers to awkward questions?  
  
So Draco turned to the packing. He felt only focused determination through the bond from Harry as he shrank shelves, folded blankets, and wrapped furniture in Cushioning Charms for transport. But that didn’t help much.  
  
Draco hadn’t realized how much Spinner’s End had come to feel like home. Certainly he found himself drawing irritated breaths for no reason as they denuded the rooms of familiar objects. Maybe it was anxiety about leaving a place where the Muggles mostly ignored them and moving into a house where the last reaction that would happen was people ignoring them, he thought wistfully.  
  
 _Or maybe what makes you feel at home is the presence of Severus and Harry, and nothing else. After all, you didn’t feel like this when you stayed in the Manor with Severus on Christmas Eve and last night._  
  
Draco stared at the wall, a set of cauldrons hovering motionless before him. Could it be something as simple as _that_? That he wanted to be alone with Severus and Harry, and wanted advance warning of extra company, as he’d known that his mother was going to be at the Manor?  
  
“ _Malfoy_. Move. Professor Snape told me to pack those stirring rods up with the others, and I can’t reach them if you’re standing in front of them.”  
  
Draco snapped back to the present, and hissed at Weasley before he could stop himself. She raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed, and waited with wand raised until he stepped aside. Then, as she floated the stirring rods out the door of the lab, she asked, “Is hissing at enemies something they teach all the Slytherin students at Hogwarts? Or is that your particular specialty?” She glanced over her shoulder, and her expression was perfectly innocent.  
  
“ _Ginny_.” Harry’s tense, anxious voice interrupted before Draco could reply.  
  
“What?” Weasley asked, and turned that expression of innocence on Harry. Harry hesitated, the bond thrumming with images of galloping horses and crashing waves. “I’m just making conversation.”  
  
Harry swallowed down what Draco thought must be several different retorts, from the length of time he took, and then he offered a faint smile. Draco mentally compared it to the smiles that Harry had given when they had their dinner conversation about Quidditch, and was satisfied. Of course the bond gave him an advantage, since he was feeling all Harry’s emotions, but he was also becoming good at reading his expression, the skill Weasley had to practice, and this wasn’t a genuine smile. Draco wondered if she knew that. “Right. Well, come and help me with these two tables. Severus wants them taken together, and I don’t think I can manage the weight on my own.”  
  
Weasley’s eyes widened, and her face went a little pale. As she moved out the door of the lab, Draco heard her demand, “ _Severus_?”  
  
“He asked me to call him that,” Harry said. “First step towards a truce. I said I would.”  
  
“Well, I don’t like it,” Weasley muttered.  
  
Harry stopped and turned to face her, from the sound of it. Draco waved his wand so that several sets of vials would fly around the lab and into trunks, which made a lot of clattering noise but left him free to spy, and stuck his head slowly around the corner. “Ginny,” Harry said. He was speaking quietly and firmly, but the bond had darkened in Draco’s mind, frozen lightning hanging about it the way it had when he was trying to control his anger after Draco was wounded in the bookshop. “I have to live with them. I want to be as friendly with them as possible. Is calling them by their first names that much of a sacrifice?”  
  
Weasley shook her hair out of her face and looked up at him. Her arms were folded, her body radiating tension. “You don’t do that in front of me. You always call them by their last names.”  
  
“Because I thought it would be diplomatic to do that in front of you, and call them by their first names in front of them.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, hissing. “I’m just trying to get along with two very different sets of people, and in a way that will make them as comfortable and happy as possible. And _me_ as comfortable and happy as possible, too, come to that. You know that I _can’t_ break this bond. Can I have your help in living with it? Please?”  
  
Weasley held the hostile posture for a breath longer, then sighed and let her head droop forwards. “Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry, Harry. But—seeing the way they look at you—”  
  
“As if I’m not quite as stupid as I appear?” Harry asked dryly. “Trust me, they may have upgraded me from possible Potions ingredient to tolerable human being in their minds, but it won’t go any further than that.”  
  
Draco curled his fingers into the side of the doorway. _He says that he wants to live with us both, but he’s still being fairer to the Weasleys than to us_. He was glad that he had advised Severus to hide his jealousy for now. Harry really wouldn’t understand why they might be jealous over him, if he was in this kind of mood.  
  
“Not that,” Ginny said. “But it’s something—something else that I can’t define, but I don’t like. Not as if they want you.”  
  
 _How little you know_ , Draco thought in her general direction, and marveled that Harry could nod as if this was a reasonable conclusion. For a moment, Draco wished with quiet violence that Harry would open the bonds the other way. Feeling what Draco and Severus felt about him would do him a world of good.  
  
“All right,” Harry said, his voice full of a crooning gentleness that made Draco want to vomit. _He better not talk to me that way when we become lovers_. “If you do learn what it is and want to talk about it, let me know.” He smiled at Weasley and turned back to the lab. “Why don’t you ask _Severus_ if we can take the first load to the house?”  
  
Draco hastily ducked out of sight, but not hastily enough, as was proven when Harry stepped into the lab after him and looked at him steadily, in silence. Draco let his eyes fall and felt his cheeks heat up.  
  
“I don’t enjoy spying,” Harry said. He sounded weary, as if he’d already had to deliver several lectures about spying today. That was unjust enough to make Draco meet his gaze again, with defiance. Harry raised an eyebrow and his voice turned harsher, whilst the bond glowered with images of steep cliffs. “I’m sorry that I brought Ginny with me. I don’t think it’s working well. But the bit about my trying to live with everyone else in the bond? Applies to you, too. If you could go out of your way to avoid openly insulting her, then I’d appreciate it.”  
  
“I hissed at her,” Draco said. “Not insulted her.”  
  
“I know, Draco.” Harry clasped his shoulder. “But she’ll take it the same way.” His expression lightened, a bit, and he nudged Draco in the ribs with an elbow. “And I’m the one who has to live with the consequences of a wrong word, right? I’m sure that you have your own ways of being careful around Severus.”  
  
Draco whirled to face him, bubbling with exasperation, and sought an outlet the only way he could, since revealing _his_ jealousy really would let Harry know something was up. “Doesn’t that bother you? That we’re sleeping together?”  
  
Harry paused. His eyes were careful, and so was the bond, the cliffs melting and changing colors too rapidly for Draco to easily tell what he was feeling. “Should it?” he asked in a neutral tone of voice.  
  
“I think so,” Draco said. “We’re both people that you used to hate, and he’s a lot older than me, and we’re both _men_.”  
  
Harry shrugged, holding his body so stiffly that Draco wondered if he was fighting to keep from backing away. “I think that you’ve been through lots of things I can’t understand,” he said. “The imprisonment, being tried for war crimes after you both suffered during the war as much as anybody, and then spending a lot of time under house arrest. And the bond took some of your freedom, as well as mine. I don’t think it’s my place to judge, or interfere. If you’ve found each other, fine.”  
  
Draco stared at him incredulously. “Did your friend Granger give you that speech?” he asked, since he couldn’t think of anything else to say.  
  
Harry’s face twisted into harsh lines, and Draco’s body twitched as the force of Harry’s anger struck him like a flood. “No,” Harry hissed. “Sometimes I think of things on my own, and sometimes I make my own decisions. Just because I don’t _tell_ them to everybody doesn’t mean they’re not my own decisions!” He was taking deep breaths as if trying to control the magic that made the vials rattle in the trunks they’d settled into. “I’m not as smart as Hermione, but I’m smart enough to make up my own mind. I’ll listen to you, and Severus, and Hermione, and Ginny, and Kingsley, but I won’t let any of you control me. Or the Ministry either, for that matter, or the thought of the greater good. That’s what I really think about you and Severus sleeping together, Draco. Take it or leave it.”  
  
And he whirled and stalked out of the potions lab, leaving Draco feeling much smaller and more chastened than he liked.  
  
*  
  
Later, Harry blamed his anger over the conversation with Draco and his worry over Ginny for his carelessness, but he wasn’t sure that it much mattered what got the blame. The fact was that the thing had happened.  
  
He Apparated to the new house’s front garden, a collection of trunks hovering around him, and heard a shout. Harry whipped around, his body reacting to the sound automatically after more than half a year of Auror training. Somebody was in trouble, and he wanted to do something to help.  
  
A lone witch stood in front of the garden wall, her hands wringing together. Harry looked around for a child in danger or someone threatening her.  
  
And so he missed the spell she sent at him.  
  
Harry went to his knees with a loud cry. The spell cut into his belly, sinking deeper and deeper, like the marks of chewing teeth. Harry could feel fluid that wasn’t blood sliding down his legs and things shifting around down there that shouldn’t be moving, and he wanted to faint with the pain.  
  
Ledbetter said that the worst wound was a gut wound. Harry knew what he was talking about, now.  
  
He struggled to lift his head, though, because his voice wasn’t the only one sounding. Draco and Severus had both dropped in their tracks as though they were the ones the spell had cut. Harry grimaced. _My pain affects them, and much more than their pain affects me. Bloody bond!_  
  
It was the thought of that, of harm coming to them that they couldn’t help or stop, that gave Harry the strength to stagger to his feet. Something fell from the open wound across his belly and _splattered_ on the cobblestones. Harry gritted his teeth and rose above that, focusing on the woman with the kind of intensity that he’d used when he clung onto the dragon flying out of Gringotts.  
  
He was going to die, and so were other people, if he didn’t do this. It was the best motivation he’d ever found for doing anything.  
  
The witch opened her mouth and said something, but at this distance and with the roaring anger in his ears, Harry didn’t hear what it was. He pulled as hard as he could on the shared magic that encircled him, Draco, and Severus in a ring, and then poured it into a single spell. That made a weird bulging sensation in his mind, as if the spell were a container too small to hold everything.  
  
“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” he yelled.  
  
The magic hit the woman in a sloppy running wave of light rather than the normal single beam, and she shrieked and dropped her wand. Her legs turned to stone, which climbed higher up her body until it reached her neck, leaving her a living head on a stone body. She began to scream again, the sound shrill and speaking of mindless fear.  
  
Harry didn’t much care right now. It was the least she deserved for hurting Draco and Severus like that. He turned the shared magic back again, wielding it like a hoop, and turned it on the pain his bondmates were feeling.  
  
Their cries stopped. Harry hesitated, then opened the bond the other way for the first time since that night in the hospital wing after he’d defeated Voldemort. He had to be sure they weren’t in any more pain.  
  
Fires bloomed into view, one to the left side of his face, one to the right. One was golden, one purple. Harry hissed. He had forgotten that he had no idea how to interpret the colors Draco and Severus took on in his mind.  
  
He shut the bonds again and then wavered and fell to his knees. “Are you all right?” he asked, committed to doing this the old-fashioned way.  
  
“I am,” Severus said. Quite suddenly—Harry had been sure he was lying on the ground some distance away—he was kneeling beside Harry, one arm around his shoulders and wand moving in patterns not unlike those he’d used to heal Draco of _Sectumsempra_ when Harry cast it at him. “But you have forgotten yourself, idiot boy. And if you die, we die with you. I am certain of that now.” His face was white as parchment.  
  
 _That’s a good reason for it to be_ , Harry thought, and glanced down rather stupidly at his own hanging intestines. “I knew I forgot something,” he muttered.  
  
Severus’s wand brushed against his temple. “Sleep, stupid boy,” he whispered.  
  
Harry dropped off, wondering why Severus had said those words when his palm was gently stroking the back of Harry’s head. _Can someone lie with their hands?_  
  
*  
  
Severus closed his eyes. He had been utterly unprepared for the fear that ran down the bond, and that, more than the pain, had carried him from his feet when the witch’s spell hit Potter.  
  
The Dark Lord had once had Nagini drape herself over Severus so that he might appreciate the power in her body. Potter’s fear for their lives was a strangling thing like that. If there was a scrap of concern for himself in that emotion, Severus could not detect it. The thought of _them_ choked everything else.  
  
And so Severus’s own fear when he saw the coils of blue hanging from the violent slash of red across Harry’s stomach had mixed with that terror and kept him still. The pain was nothing. He had weathered worse; the Chewed Gut Curse was still not an Unforgivable, and the Dark Lord had preferred the Cruciatus for punishments on Death Eaters.  
  
But the thought of Harry dying…  
  
Severus opened his eyes to see the phoenix mark on his left arm glowing softly, but steadily. He wondered what that meant, but now was not the time for research on bonds. He rose to his feet and looked about for Draco.  
  
Draco stood with his wand jammed into the throat of the Petrified witch. Severus took a moment to dispassionately admire the work of Harry’s magic as he picked his way towards Draco’s side over the objects Harry had dropped. That was an interpretation of the spell he would never have thought to use.  
  
 _Because I would have used a stronger spell than that in the first place_ , he acknowledged to himself, and reached out to lay a hand on Draco’s wrist. Draco, who had been snarling threats under his breath to the terrified witch, turned on him like a tiger.  
  
“Moderation,” Severus whispered, deliberately keeping his voice low and sober. This was one of the first Potions lessons that he had taught Draco, and he thought the appeal to childhood memories might help in calming Draco down. “In all things, moderation. The use of force as much as anything else.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes and nodded jerkily, seeming to remember for the first time that they were newly pardoned Death Eaters in the middle of Hogsmeade. He stepped back. Severus moved forwards and stared into the woman’s eyes.  
  
“What did you hope to accomplish by hurting the Chosen One?” he asked, using the words to distract her from the Legilimency he used to ferret into her mind.  
  
The woman babbled something nonsensical about hope and freedom, but Severus had located the real reason. _The Boy-Who-Lived shouldn’t be associating with Death Eaters! They must have corrupted him! It was better to die than to live such a life!_  
  
His lip curled, and Severus fought the temptation to teach her a sharper lesson. The warning he had given Draco applied just as much to him as it did to Draco. He inclined his head and moved backwards instead.   
  
“Bring her along,” he told Draco. “The Healers at St. Mungo’s will need to see Harry, and probably also her, in order to undo the spell Harry put her under. We will make ourselves look better than we have in the eyes of the law, by getting even the attacker treatment and proving we have not harmed her.”  
  
Draco jumped, as if the words had been a whip to strike the desire for vengeance out of him, and then turned and looked anxiously at Harry. “Is he—”  
  
“Asleep,” Severus said. “And as healed as I can make him. I have had some practice in treating the effects of this curse.”  
  
Draco swallowed and nodded. Then he touched his left arm and his phoenix mark, which still had a faint trace of red and gold light. “I don’t want to think about what would have happened if we’d lost him,” he said lowly.  
  
“Would you have died?”  
  
It was Weasley who asked the question, leaning against the wall that encircled their garden. Severus had nearly forgotten about her. He gave her a glance now, saw that she didn’t intend to interfere in their transport of Harry, and dismissed her.  
  
“Yes, we would have,” Draco said, his voice muted.  
  
Severus stiffened in irritation—Draco did not need to blurt that out in a public place for enemies to overhear—but then busied himself conjuring a stretcher. As he lowered it into place beside Harry, he heard Weasley whisper, “I didn’t know. I would have—I would have behaved better to you if I knew.”  
  
“Don’t make this about yourself, Weasley,” Draco snapped at her. “Harry’s hurt.”  
  
Severus didn’t bother listening to her reply. His gaze was locked on Harry’s pale face as he levitated him onto the stretcher.   
  
_I know he has been hurt in Auror training, and we have not been affected. Why now? Is it only due to the nature of the curse? Has the bond begun to change, and if so, what does that mean?_   
  
Severus shook his head. Once again, he had few answers for many problems.  
  
But there was one thing he knew would have to be done. That lack of concern for his own life in the bond, the way Harry had seemed to _forget_ that he was wounded…  
  
It chimed with the self-loathing Severus had felt in the bond when it first opened, and the reckless way that Harry had used accidental magic to save them, and several other signs that made him—concerned. Not worried. Worry had been what he felt when he saw Harry fall in front of him.  
  
 _We must find out what the source of that is. Nothing like a hidden death wish, I hope._  
  
He brushed Harry’s hair away from his unmarked forehead, and hoped that he might soon see those eyes open.   
  
For practical reasons, of course, but also for personal ones.


	8. Chapter 8

  
Harry tried to open his eyes, and found them stuck shut with some gummy substance. Then he tried to move his limbs, and found they were weighted to the bed. He chuffed softly in frustration and tried to sit up anyway. He ought to be able to do that without waving his arms around, or even opening his eyes.  
  
“No, Harry, lie still.” That was Ginny’s voice, soft and fretful. “The Healers want you to stay as still as you can until they’re sure they put all your intestines back in the right place.”  
  
That was such a strange statement that it managed to distract Harry from his determination to sit up for a moment. _Put all my intestines back in the right place? What was I doing that—  
  
Oh. Of course._   
  
He relaxed, and turned his head in the direction of Ginny’s voice. Her hand brushed over his forehead and her lips brushed his cheek as a quick reward.   
  
“Did they cast some spell to make sure I couldn’t open my eyes, either?” Harry asked, trying to keep his tone as wry as possible. He’d already learned a few things about Healers from his interactions with them during the Auror training classes: sound as if you were upset, and they were likely to cast sleeping spells on you.  
  
“Oh, no, that’s just crusted sleep,” Ginny said, and Harry heard her mutter something under her breath. The next moment, the weight on his eyelids was gone. He sighed in relief and opened them.  
  
The hospital room seemed oddly bright, until he worked out that he must have lain in the bed overnight. The sun poured through the open windows, and Harry could make out the bouquets of flowers already piling up on the tables by the bed, in explosions of red and white and purple. He snorted. “Don’t tell me. Rita Skeeter already found out that something sent me to hospital, and those are from well-wishers.”  
  
Ginny grinned at him and leaned an elbow on the bed. “Got it in one.”  
  
She looked ridiculously happy. Well, Harry thought, he might have felt the same way if he knew that someone he liked a lot had survived a deadly spell or a gut wound.  
  
And then he stiffened, because he couldn’t believe that he had forgotten _this_ long, no matter what had happened to him.  
  
“Where are Draco and Severus?” he demanded.  
  
Ginny stood upright at once, and her eyes slid away from his face while her cheeks flushed. She coughed. “I didn’t—Harry, it wasn’t my idea, you realize,” she murmured. “But there are certain people on the St. Mungo’s staff who’ve lost family members in the war, and when they realized who Malfoy and Snape were—”  
  
“If they’ve hurt Draco and Severus, I’m going to _kill_ them,” Harry snarled, and pushed his sleeves up. To his relief, the phoenix marks on his arms were quiet, without the burning sensation they would give him if his bondmates were hurt.  
  
On the other hand, maybe Healers knew some magic that would block the bonds. They knew all sorts of odd things. He turned on Ginny. “Where are they?”  
  
Ginny swallowed and looked as if she was debating what to answer for a moment, but, fortunately for her, she decided that the truth was best. “The Healers put them out of hospital, because they thought they would threaten other patients,” she said lowly. “I think—I think they may have gone home. Or maybe they’re still outside the hospital. I don’t know.”  
  
“Go find them.”   
  
Ginny blinked, as if wanting to ask why he was so angry about this, but in the end she nodded and turned away. Harry leaned back on the pillows and swore softly under his breath, cursing the Healers. Of course Draco and Severus would have protested being put out of his room, but if they protested _too_ much, then they were likely to end up in Akzaban again, or at least arrested.  
  
 _Having Kingsley pardon them isn’t enough—not enough to make them innocent in the eyes of most of the wizarding world. I have to do something else._   
  
The thought of what that “something else” would be occupied him and the whirling thoughts in his head while he waited for Ginny to come back.  
  
*  
  
Severus turned towards the door at once when someone knocked. The wards strung across the front gardens would have reacted negatively if it was someone who wanted to harm them, but he still picked up his wand. He hadn’t had time to set up the subtler wards he wanted, which would discriminate between nuances of intention.  
  
And he was a bit on edge, given the hours that had passed without news of Harry. Yes, there had been no more pain from the phoenix marks, either, which indicated that at least he had not grown worse, but negative news from a distance was not the same as seeing the process happen with his own eyes.  
  
Draco burst past him before Severus could come up with the best strategy for answering the door, and opened it. The Weasley girl stood there, her hand still raised to knock, her mouth slightly open. Draco snapped at her, flustering her further. “Well? Is Harry alive? Have the Healers changed their minds?”  
  
“He wants you there,” said Weasley, apparently choosing the simplest answer to several of Draco’s questions.   
  
Severus felt a tight knot he had not been aware that he carried within him relax. When Harry woke and found them gone from his hospital room, he might have decided it was their fault, or their choice, and simply not thought anything more about them for several days. That he wanted their presence was—promising.  
  
“Get out of the way,” Draco said, and charged past Weasley. She looked after him with an expression of indignation before she turned to Severus and raised an eyebrow.   
  
“I don’t know how you’re going to get past the Healers who put you out before,” she said. “He didn’t tell me that part.”  
  
“I imagine that he does not know himself,” Severus said coolly, and then stepped around her. He could already envision several different ways of doing so. The Healers might at least hesitate when they realized that the Boy-Who-Lived himself had called for Draco and Severus. They might send someone to his room to find out if this was the truth, and Harry should be able to convince them.  
  
As it turned out, that was not necessary.  
  
*  
  
Draco was glad that he didn’t have very sensitive ears. Certainly they would have been damaged by the shouting that erupted from the upper corridors as they stood arguing with the welcome witch whether she should let them further into St. Mungo’s.  
  
“They’re _heroes_ , is what they are! Haven’t you paid attention to a thing the _Prophet’s_ said since the war? I’m living in a house in Hogsmeade with them, for fuck’s sake! No, I will _not_ calm down—don’t bring that Calming Draught near me unless you want to be walking across glass in a minute—”  
  
There came a loud shattering sound. Draco glanced sideways and surprised a small smile on Severus’s face. Ordinarily, he would have been angry at the waste of a potion, Draco knew, but it was a small price to pay to dissolve the barrier that kept them from Harry’s side.  
  
“I believe,” Severus drawled, fixing his attention on the welcome witch, “that you can hear Mr. Potter’s wishes for yourself.”  
  
“Not to mention,” Draco added, as the witch drew her breath in to argue again, “that we were pardoned by the Minister himself. Or do you think you know more about ‘the darkness in our souls’ than he does?”  
  
The witch hesitated, gave an agonized glance up the stairs, and then visibly gave up and left it to her superiors to deal with. She waved Draco and Severus past her.   
  
Draco led the way up the stairs. He was younger and moved faster than Severus, or at least he could tell himself that was the reason. In reality, he knew he had been more irritated when the Healers put them out than Severus had, simply because he had less control of his emotions. And he hadn’t seen Harry healed of that gut wound, either, the way Severus had because he was the one who performed the spell.  
  
The phoenix mark could be silent all it liked. What _really_ reassured Draco was the anger that filled the bond like dozens of spitting cats and the voice that soared out of the room on the Spell Damage Ward ahead of them.  
  
“Did you ever stop to consider that not all Death Eaters are the same? I know the fact might be too large for your small brain, but _try_. And I’m told that Healers are better at sensing invisible things about their patients than this. Had it occurred to you to _look_ for a reason that they might be so concerned about me?”  
  
Draco sped up. He didn’t think that Severus wanted Harry revealing the existence of the bond to anyone just yet.  
  
He skidded into the room, and blinked, his eyes taking a moment to sort out the images in front of him. The flowers were _everywhere_ , and made it look as if Harry had labored to transform his hospital room into a tropical jungle. They almost obscured the form of a young Healer cowering in front of Harry’s bed, holding up his hands as if they could shield him from the Chosen One’s wrath. On the floor were the liquid and glass remnants of a vial of Calming Draught.  
  
Harry had risen to his knees, and seemed oblivious of the large red scar that still shone across his belly. His hands were clenched into fists, his face flushed. His phoenix marks didn’t shine, but Draco thought they should have; his fury was practically a light.   
  
“Harry, it’s all right, we’re here,” he called, and began picking his way gingerly across the glass towards the bed.  
  
“Draco!” Harry whirled towards him and relaxed with a slight shake of his head. The next moment, he was tense again, cocking his neck towards the Healer, his eyes ablaze with indignation. “Do you know what he’s been _saying_ about you? Hullo, Severus,” he added, as Severus stepped into the room behind Draco. “It’s _ridiculous_. I’m beginning to think that those pardons from Kingsley didn’t do a bit of good.”  
  
“A war happened,” Draco murmured. As little as he felt like defending the Healers, he didn’t want Harry getting upset enough to tear his wound open. He arrived at his side and helped him to lie down in the bed again. A glance showed him the Healer had taken the opportunity to scuttle out the door. Draco exhaled in relief—he didn’t really want a confrontation right now—and turned back to Harry. “You have to remember that.”  
  
“Not when they treat you like pariahs.” Harry snorted like an angry horse and turned to stare into Draco’s eyes. Draco swallowed a little when he realized how close their faces were. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Am _I_ —” Draco blinked until he remembered the way he and Severus had cried out in pain when the Gut Chewing Curse hit Harry. He nodded and stepped back so that Severus could hold his wand towards Harry and examine the scar on his belly. “Of course. What about you?”  
  
“If they put my intestines back in the wrong place, I haven’t heard about it yet. But then, I probably won’t know until I eat something.” Harry switched his focus to Severus with dizzying rapidity. “Hello again. Thanks for healing me.”  
  
The words weren’t especially soft or intimate, but they made Severus pause in his examination of the scar. For a moment, he and Harry locked eyes. Draco looked back and forth between them, infuriated that he, as close as he was to both of them, couldn’t tell what exactly was happening between them. Harry felt soft, and striving for neutral, but that was about all, and of course Draco had no special, bond-guided insight into Severus’s emotions.  
  
“Of course I had to heal you.” Severus spoke a moment later than he should have, if he was really unaffected by Harry’s gaze. “We would have died otherwise.”  
  
Harry glanced away, his eyes shuttering themselves effectively, and Draco wished he could privately inform Severus that had been the wrong thing to say. But Harry was already going on. “That didn’t happen before, when Ledbetter or one of the other instructors wounded me with a curse. We have to figure out why it did now, and what we’ll do to keep that from happening again.”  
  
“I believe the bond is altering.” Severus had stepped back from the bed, and seemed intent on examining a bunch of roses with an eye to their usefulness as Potions ingredients. “In what direction, I cannot tell.”  
  
“Not useful, then,” Harry said. It was Severus’s turn to lower his eyes and half-flinch, though from the twitch in Harry’s body, Draco thought _he_ might have seen the reaction to his words. “But we should try to learn everything we can about the bond, so that we know what it’s changing _from_.” He tilted his head at Draco, the bond pulsing with relief at leaving Severus behind for the moment. “Did you sense any chance in the magic we shared, or anything like that, when you were wounded?”  
  
*  
  
Harry knew he had hurt Sna—Severus. He knew that. But Severus had hurt him first, and there was a limit to how many things Harry could think about and do when he was leaning against pillows in a hospital bed.   
  
Draco frowned, his eyes going back and forth from Harry to Severus as if he understood their interaction perfectly, which he probably did, and hated it. Harry shut his eyes a moment. He hated it, too, but the fact remained that there was just never going to be an easy connection between the two of them. He should get used to it now.  
  
“I don’t think so, no,” Draco said lowly. He hesitated. “Do you think it would help to brew the Hidden History Potion again?” he asked Severus. “We were able to learn more about the bond by watching how it formed. Maybe Harry would see something that we’ve missed. You and I had different insights.”  
  
Severus relaxed. Harry could sense that without having the bonds open to feel their emotions; it came simply from his knowledge of the man, who would like having something definite to do, and especially something that concerned a potion. “Of course,” he said. “I should have thought of that myself. I will begin it at once, now that I know the Healers have tended Harry well.”   
  
He stepped past the bed and brushed a hand gently across Draco’s shoulder. Draco beamed up at him in response.   
  
And a spike of jealousy so sharp that it felt as if someone had driven a needle under his fingernails hit Harry. He stared down at the bed and concentrated hard on his hands. They could feel what he felt, of course, but hopefully they wouldn’t understand the source of it.  
  
Fuck, _he_ couldn’t understand the source of it.  
  
No matter how much like friends he and Severus became, they simply couldn’t forget the hatred that had lain between them when Harry was a child. So they had to accept that and work past it. He thought he _had_ accepted it. He had reminded himself of it not a moment before, when Severus turned away from him.  
  
He shouldn’t be envying the gentleness and deep ease of the relationship Draco and Severus shared. Not only were they more alike, not only had they shared more together, they were lovers and couldn’t help it. It wasn’t done to hurt him.  
  
 _I don’t understand myself_ , Harry thought crossly, and kept his eyes directed at the bed until Severus left. Then he looked back up at Draco, who regarded him with far too knowing an eye. Harry spoke hastily so that he could get past some of that.  
  
“How are we going to deal with the Healers wanting to put you out of hospital again?”  
  
Draco at once narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “The pardon didn’t help. The Healers who put us out aren’t going to give up their irrational fear that we’ll murder everyone in hospital just because you say so. I reckon you’ll have to contact the Ministry and ask that we be permitted to stay.”  
  
He looked perfectly disgusted, and Harry could understand why. This shouldn’t be so _difficult_. If he really had the kind of power that people always thought he did, he should be able to say who was and wasn’t allowed near him. If he didn’t have it, then he was much more like a private citizen and people shouldn’t worry so much over who he associated with.  
  
 _But being a celebrity isn’t fun, and you know that_. He nodded and said, “Could you bring me some parchment and ink? The sooner I write, the better. I don’t even want to know what sorts of stories they’re spreading now about me.” He rolled his eyes. “And then I’ll need you to bring me a post-owl.”  
  
Draco didn’t move for a few moments, and Harry wondered if he had been lost in his own thoughts when Harry had made his requests. He was about to repeat them when Draco said quietly, “There’s no reason to be jealous. We’ll share what we have with you, willingly.”  
  
Harry winced. “It was stupid of me to feel that way,” he said flatly. “I don’t know why I did. Drop it, please?”  
  
“No.” Draco stepped forwards and reached out to cup his chin. Harry tried to avoid him, but the healed wound in his gut pulled warningly, and he stopped. Draco tried a smile as he cradled Harry’s chin and brushed his hair out of his face, but it faded quickly, overpowered by the intensity that Harry could feel crackling between them like lightning. “We want to share it,” Draco whispered.  
  
He leaned forwards. Harry found himself as frozen as a rabbit in the shadow of a hawk. He had an idea what was about to happen, but no idea whether he wanted it to happen or not.  
  
“Harry— _oh_.”  
  
Ginny was standing in the doorway of the room, staring. Harry knew that before he looked. He jerked away from Draco, his face burning, and winced again as he thought of the explanations he would have to come up with. Ginny would put the worst possible interpretation on what she’d just seen, and Harry wasn’t sure she would be wrong.  
  
“Get me the parchment and the ink and the owl, please,” he whispered. His voice was so choked up. It shouldn’t be, but it was, and like the inconvenient fact that people expected more out of him because of his fame, he would just have to live with it.  
  
Draco stood there and stared evenly at him for a moment, as if he couldn’t feel the tension in the air. Then he ducked his head in something like a nod and turned away, striding rapidly from the room and past Ginny.  
  
“They do want you,” Ginny said, slamming the door behind her. Her color was high. “Or at least he does. I _knew_ it.”  
  
Harry sat there for a moment, more stunned by the sudden ending of the potential kiss than by it almost happening in the first place. Then he cleared his throat, and moved away from the dream world of his fantasies into the one where he had to deal with inconvenient facts.  
  
“Yeah, it looks like he does,” he muttered.  
  
“Then I want to know,” Ginny said, moving a few steps closer, her hands balled into fists, “how I’m supposed to be comfortable leaving you alone with them. I realize that you have to be close to them because of the bond. I can’t deny that or change that. But what am I supposed to _do_?” Her voice was becoming dangerously close to tears.  
  
Because he didn’t know what else to do, Harry stretched out his hands. Ginny came closer and took them in her own, staring at him through a curtain of hair. Harry rubbed her fingers with his thumbs and wished he had a neat, quick, certain answer.  
  
“I reckon I can only ask you to trust me,” he said. “Maybe they, or Draco, will try to kiss me again, but I won’t let it happen. I’ll tell them that I’m dating you.”  
  
Ginny sighed. “That won’t make them back off,” she muttered, but she did seem less upset. “I think Malfoy could be as persistent as Romilda Vane, if he really wanted to.”  
  
Harry laughed despite himself when he thought of Draco slipping him chocolates laced with love potion. “I really hope that doesn’t happen!” He was starting to feel tired and dizzy from something other than anyone’s nearness, but he really didn’t want any mistrust to linger between him and Ginny. “And besides, I can’t imagine Severus wanting me. He and Draco are lovers. He’ll be jealous when he hears about Draco trying to kiss me. I can’t believe he’d condone it, or let it happen again.”  
  
“He was handling you pretty tenderly after you got wounded,” Ginny said doubtfully. Her tears were dying now. She wiped them away and gave him a shaky smile. “But then, you’re pretty want-able.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “He saw me almost die,” he said. “And I think that they die if I do, though we’re trying to figure that out.”   
  
He pushed away the uncomfortable thought that suggested itself then: if that was true, how could he be an Auror, in a career where people would be trying to kill him almost constantly? The witch’s attack on him in Hogsmeade showed that he might not be much safer in ordinary life.  
  
“Of course. I didn’t think of that.” Ginny sounded contrite. She touched the back of his head, the same place Severus had when he was soothing him to sleep. Harry smiled at her, and tried not to compare the two touches in his head. “Forgive me?”  
  
“Of course,” Harry repeated back to her. He stifled a yawn. “What happened to the woman who attacked me?”  
  
“I think she’s still here. They needed to reverse the spell you used that turned her to stone.” Ginny peered at him then, and the shadow he’d seen when he tried to talk to her on Christmas Eve was back in her eyes. Harry _wished_ he knew what caused that so he could banish it forever. “What spell was that?”  
  
“Just an ordinary _Petrificus Totalus_ ,” Harry said. He was wrestling with sleep now, trying to avoid the temptation to simply lay his head back and shut his eyes. _I’ve already spent a lot of time asleep, that should count for something_! “But I share magic with Draco and Severus now. That made the spell extra powerful.”  
  
“Oh.” Ginny released the word on a little sigh, and stroked his shoulder. “You can go to sleep, Harry. I’ll get a Healer, and I’ll tell them that Malfoy and Snape should be allowed into your room.”  
  
“Thanks, Ginny.” Harry sighed those words, too. He could feel pain from the wound across his belly again, and he rubbed the scar. _The bond took one scar away, I reckon I was due for another one_. Then he shifted to his side, trying to find a comfortable position, and shut his eyes.  
  
Ginny kissed his forehead. “You’re too noble for your own good, sometimes,” she whispered. “I’ll tell Ron and Hermione that you woke up. They were here earlier, while you were asleep.”  
  
She added something else, about “Professor Snape” and “telling,” but Harry was too tired to pay much attention. He slipped into a confused dream where he ran from stone statues tied in glistening ropes the color of intestines, and Draco and Severus battled for his life with wands made of fire.  
  
*  
  
Severus stepped back from the Hidden History Potion and cast a charm that would keep it in its current state until he had time to place Harry in front of it and add the final ingredients. The guardian would emerge immediately when the final ingredients hit the potion, or Severus would have added them now and then cast the Stasis Charm.  
  
Anything to keep him working for a few more moments. Anything to keep him from thinking about what had happened in hospital.  
  
Simple words from Harry should not have the power to affect him. Nor should simple emotions, like the jealousy the boy had shown when Severus and Draco shared a reassuring moment together.  
  
The jealousy told Severus there might be hope for a deeper kind of physical relationship. The words told him there was none.  
  
Severus shut his eyes and tried to resign himself to having no immediate answer to the problem. He needed both Draco and Harry for that answer, and Harry, at least, would not be fit to leave hospital for quite some time. Severus had heard the front door slam when Draco came home earlier, but he had not stopped in the lab to speak to Severus, and it was not a conversation Severus wanted to pursue at the moment, either.  
  
His world had become sharper-edged and stranger than any he had inhabited in the last few weeks. He had thought the most trying time was when Harry refused to acknowledge the bond, but at least the fundamental certainties of his universe were still in place then. Severus knew that he hated Harry and that they would only put up with the bond because they had to.  
  
And now…  
  
Sharp edges bristled wherever he looked. Strangeness flooded him and bathed him in a liquid that hurt like scarlet scorpion venom splashed on the skin.  
  
“Professor Snape?”  
  
And it appeared that he was not to have even those moments alone that he required, to think through the strangeness and smooth the sharp edges back into the convenient, hard pictures he was familiar with. He turned to face the lab door and saw Molly Weasley’s daughter standing there, mouth puckered as if she had swallowed a lemon.  
  
It was no effort to gaze at her without expression. She had been, until recently, a person who roused little emotion in Severus, which was not the case with Draco and Harry. Severus had been reluctantly impressed when she tried to resist his reign as Headmaster last year, and then when she had stuck close to Harry’s side despite the storm of publicity and proposals he received.   
  
But now he had to consider her an obstacle, and the resentment from that was another emotion he did not know how to cope with, which he had to feel poking him for the moment and do nothing about. It was much easier to look at her blankly and incline his head, encouraging her to continue.  
  
“You should know,” Weasley said, taking a step towards him and looking at him with bright, blazing eyes that reminded Severus of the way she had looked at him last year, “that Malfoy almost kissed Harry in the hospital room today.”  
  
Severus blinked. _What could have prompted Draco to that display of recklessness? And in a place where Weasley could catch him, no less, and where there are people who have less than tender feelings about us?_  
  
“I don’t think he’ll stop,” Weasley said, in the tone of someone confiding an important secret. “I trust Harry, but—he just sat there today. I think he’s overwhelmed with the injury and everything.” She caught her breath, and Severus suddenly saw her as a young woman trying her very best to cope with her own overwhelming experience. She was the strong one for the moment, because someone had to be, but it could not have been easy to see her lover fall down in front of her.  
  
 _I do not enjoy these moments of empathy._   
  
But at least it made it easier for him to understand what Weasley was upset about, and to manufacture the anger she would expect from him. He drew himself up. “I will speak with Draco,” he said coolly. “As to why Potter did what he did, you must talk to _him_ about that.”  
  
Weasley nodded to him, her eyes grim. “That’s just what I plan to do,” she said. “But I think I can trust him more than you can trust Malfoy.” She hesitated, which gave Severus a chance to fight down his anger at that. _This chit has no idea of the true state of affairs between Draco and me_. “Do you know—is Malfoy really interested in Harry? And if he is, then why? Why would he be lovers with you and interested in someone else?”  
  
Severus waited a few moments more, so that he could hold back the automatic sarcastic answer, about whether the Weasley girl was so Gryffindor as to believe that inherent nobility could counteract human sexual instincts.  
  
She was staring up at him, brown eyes fearful but determined, and touched by a fugitive sheen of tears…  
  
It was so very easy for Severus to use Legilimency to slip into the mind beneath those eyes, especially since she had no natural defenses.  
  
He found the answer as to why she was worried about her closeness to Harry almost at once. Her experiences in the school during the last year were never far from the surface of her mind, whipping shadowy tendrils through the rest of her life. She longed to talk to someone about those experiences, and the nightmares that she still suffered as a result of them. But she thought she had to remain silent because what Harry had suffered, including the latest attack, was so much worse.  
  
Wrapped beneath the silence was resentment that she needed to stifle herself like that, combined with the reluctant acknowledgment that Harry had never asked her for the stifling in the first place.  
  
Draco and Severus need not make any special effort to break apart Weasley’s bond with Harry. It seemed as if it would fracture on its own. They had chosen different ways of coping with the trauma of the war—too different to allow them to remain together.  
  
Severus slipped back out of Weasley’s mind and gave her vague assurances about Draco’s interest in Harry, and how no one could ever perfectly know another person’s mind, and how he would make sure that a kiss did not happen again. Weasley departed unsatisfied—nothing could have satisfied her completely—but in a state of calm that Severus only wished he could duplicate.  
  
He turned and stared at the Hidden History Potion. He felt as if he might be in the middle of a vision caused by the potion himself, but it was a vision unconnected to any specific event.  
  
New possibilities unfolding. New emotions hurtling down on him, which was painful after the isolation he had endured for so long. New personalities crowding into his mind and insisting on being dealt with.  
  
But he could not always have someone to come to him, reassure him, and set him on the right path. Draco had not come to talk to him about the kiss with Harry. He was either sulking about it or believed Severus would scold him. Either way, it would be wiser to approach him gently rather than with a scowl.  
  
And that was what he would do at the moment, Severus concluded, checking the Stasis Charm on the potion once more and then dimming the torches on the walls with a wave of his wand. He could do no more here.  
  
He took a quick glance at Harry’s Christmas present, still waiting patiently in a corner of the lab, and then shut the door behind him.  
  
*  
  
When Harry woke up, Hermione was there. And Ron. And a green-robed Healer who hovered to the side of the bed with a potion vial in his hand and a nervous expression on his face. Harry was pleased to see that it wasn’t the one who had tried to give him the Calming Draught earlier.  
  
On the other hand, he _could_ be one of those Healers who had tried to prevent Draco and Severus from entering the hospital. Harry narrowed his eyes. “How do you feel about Death Eaters?” he demanded.  
  
The Healer jumped, then blinked and straightened his shoulders. He was openly fighting not to blush or lick his lips, Harry thought critically. He had sandy hair like Neville, a face without any of the thoughtfulness Neville had gained in the past few months, and bright hazel eyes. “I—I think they should be treated like anyone else,” he said. “My job is to heal the body, not the soul.”  
  
Harry relaxed. _Maybe not the best view, but I can live with it_. “And what does that potion do?” he asked, nodding to the vial in the Healer’s hand.  
  
Hermione intervened then. “It’s a potion that will prevent scarring from the gut wound,” she said. “I’ve read about it, Harry. I recognize that shade of purple.”  
  
Harry swallowed the potion without complaint, although it tasted like chocolate gone putrid. The Healer beat a grateful retreat, and he turned to his best friends. “Did Ginny tell you what’s been happening? Or did you know?”  
  
“She told us, yes.” Hermione reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand. Her face was soft. “I didn’t know that they’d sent Malfoy and Snape out of hospital.” She shook her head and lowered her voice. “I think you should tell everyone about the bond.”  
  
“Kingsley doesn’t want me to,” Harry grumbled. “He thinks that it would make me even more of a target, because it would give my enemies two relatively unprotected people to attack.”  
  
“Then the Ministry should pay for wards on your new house,” Hermione said. She had a frown on her face that Harry usually feared—it often meant she was going to start talking about house-elves—but this time he found it comforting that she would probably turn it on the Ministry. “After all, the people who attacked you haven’t been Dark wizards and Death Eaters. They’ve been people I think the Ministry would call ‘ordinary citizens.’”  
  
“Including the witch who tried to kill me?” Harry shivered a little as he spoke. He’d had so many other things to think about that he hadn’t considered she could easily have killed him. “Who was she?”  
  
“Her name’s Griselda Huxley.” Ron spoke for the first time. Harry glanced at him, and saw anger in his best friend’s eyes. At least it seemed to be tamed anger, since Ron wasn’t stomping around the hospital room and swearing vengeance on a dozen different people. “And there’s a problem with arresting her.”  
  
“What is it this time?” Harry snapped. “Surely they can’t claim that no one saw the damage, the way they did with Pepperfield. I could probably call seven or eight Healers as witnesses, not to mention you—”  
  
“She was a hero during the war.” Ron did hop on his feet and pace back and forth then. He looked the way he had when Bill almost managed to beat him at chess on Christmas Eve. “Led some Muggleborn fugitives away from Death Eaters, and defended them when a bunch of Snatchers almost caught them. According to Kingsley, it would be a public relations disaster to arrest her. The trial would be a circus, and there are people on the Wizengamot whose relatives she saved. They might actually _refuse_ to try her.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and clenched his hands into the blankets. He felt Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and heard her murmur something soothing, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He _had_ to do something about this.  
  
Something that would protect Severus and Draco. Something that would stop letting people think they had the right to walk up to him and do whatever they wanted because they were disappointed in Harry for choosing Severus and Draco’s company.   
  
And the only thing he could think of was to let people know about the bond. There were people who would attack them more for that, yes, but there were people who would attack them _anyway_ , and the Ministry seemed uninterested in punishing them. And given what Hermione had pushed him to read about bonds lately, Harry knew there were others in the wizarding community who would accept them more eagerly. Pure-blood traditionalists would care less about the fact that the bond was between three people, three men, or a “hero” and two “villains” than the fact that there was a bond. That would prove that Harry was a proper wizard and properly settled down.  
  
 _I can’t believe I’m thinking about getting support from some of the same people who supported Voldemort_. But then, Kingsley was always talking about reconciling people to the new Ministry and the new world. Maybe this was a way to do it.  
  
If the bond was public, he could stop hiding the fact that he was protecting Severus and Draco, and stop coming up with excuses as to why he was living with them—a question he still hadn’t managed to find any good answers to.   
  
He would have a reason to study bonds, which was something he had worried about hiding when Severus said the bond was changing.   
  
“Yes,” he said aloud. “That’s what I’m going to do.”  
  
“What are you going to do?” Hermione demanded at once.  
  
Harry smiled at her fondly, and at Ron, who had stopped pacing and come across to the side of his bed again, his expression anxious. They wouldn’t necessarily approve of his plan, but they wanted to know what it was, so that they _could_ decide whether they would support it. Harry knew he was incredibly lucky to have two people so interested in him, so willing to argue with his conclusions.  
  
 _Maybe I’ll have two more someday?_  
  
But Harry quickly rejected the idea. He had told Ginny that she could trust him, and that meant turning away from certain visions, certain twists in the path that his life might take.  
  
“I want to make the bond public,” he said. Ron’s brow wrinkled; Hermione opened her mouth. Harry raised his hand. “I think it’ll solve more problems than it causes. Then I can do what I need to and want to to protect Draco and Severus—”  
  
Ron twitched, and Harry realized he hadn’t used their first names in front of Ron before. He shrugged impatiently and pressed on. He was going to give Ron something else to get concerned over.  
  
“I can live with them openly. I can let anyone who tries to hurt them, or me, know that the others will be angry about it. The Ministry makes some exceptions for self-defense, I know. Right now, Draco and Severus can barely defend themselves, let alone me, because everyone would think they were using Dark Arts to hurt innocents. But when people know there’s a three-way bond between us, they’ll have a lot better case for drawing their wands if I’m in danger.”  
  
“But other people will target you now, because they know that they can hurt Snape and Malfoy through you.” Hermione’s frown looked so deep Harry wondered idly if it would leave permanent traces in her face. “I don’t like your taking on extra danger, Harry.”  
  
“Those people who want to hurt them, and who are willing to hurt me to do it, aren’t my friends or supporters, anyway.” Harry gave her a thin smile and gestured to the scar on his stomach. “And we’ve already seen that plenty of the ‘heroes’ and ‘good people’ are willing to hurt me.”  
  
“You’re not just any war hero, mate.” Ron laid his elbow on the bed and stared earnestly at Harry. “You’re _the_ war hero. Kingsley might think that you’re forcing the Ministry into supporting two people they don’t really want to support.”  
  
Harry hesitated for a long moment. He was trying to be more adult about this. Didn’t that meant he had an obligation to calmly consider the claims of the Ministry, too, and try to deal with them like an adult instead of a petulant child?  
  
“Do you think they’ll manage to try Huxley despite all the reluctance?” he asked Hermione.  
  
She hesitated, with the kind of silence that told Harry her brain was racing and she was trying to come up with _any_ answer to the question, not just one that would give her what she wished was true. Then she sighed. “Maybe they will,” she said. “But right now, it doesn’t look like it. She isn’t even in Auror custody. She was allowed to go home. And it would take a lot of determined effort to get her in a courtroom.”  
  
Harry clenched his jaw. “Then I don’t see why I should accept what Kingsley tells me and behave like a good little puppet, when he can’t even be bothered to arrest people who would pose a danger to _my_ life, never mind Draco and Severus’s.”  
  
“That’s right,” Ron said suddenly. His eyes were wide and bright with the shine that said a revelation had come to him. “Why is he so worried about Huxley’s reputation when you’re the bigger hero? They shouldn’t have trouble finding people to try her when you have so much more support than she does.”  
  
Hermione folded her arms and frowned at both of them. “That doesn’t mean Kingsley doesn’t care about Harry, or that there’s some kind of conspiracy, Ron.”  
  
“I know that.” Ron waved an airy hand. “But it _does_ mean that he’s a lot more worried about Harry’s standing with the general population than he says he is. And if Harry is just one more hero among the lot of us, then it shouldn’t matter so much what he does or who he associates with. I think Kingsley is worried about negative publicity in any direction. But he can’t have it both ways. Either Harry is important enough to get Huxley tried, or he’s not important enough to make the Ministry worry about his every movement. There’s no reason Harry should have all the burdens of a heroic reputation and none of the advantages.”  
  
Hermione looked faintly impressed. Harry smiled at Ron. “So you’ll support me in this, then?”  
  
“Ginny won’t like it.” Ron’s eyes were somber.  
  
Harry swallowed. “I know. But we’ve discussed it, and she’s said that she trusts me.” If Ginny hadn’t told them about Draco almost kissing him, then Harry wasn’t going to mention it, either.   
  
“How are you going to get word out about the bond?” Hermione asked, moving on to more practical matters as usual. “It’s not as if you could grant an interview to Rita Skeeter and ask her—” And then she stopped, mouth open.  
  
Harry pushed himself up the pillows, ignoring the tug from his stomach. The wound hurt less than it’d done earlier, anyway. “Why not?” he demanded excitedly. “Why couldn’t I do just that? We’d make her swear a vow to tell the truth and not use the Quick-Quotes Quill, first. I think she’d give up on the temptation to twist my words around if it meant that she got an exclusive interview.” He snorted. “We might as well make this stupid ‘heroic’ reputation work for me for once.”  
  
“But she might twist them anyway,” Hermione said, folding her arms. “And I don’t think you should do this without discussing it with Snape and Malfoy.”  
  
Harry laughed sheepishly. “I was getting so carried away that I didn’t even think of that. Thank you, Hermione. And you, Ron,” he added, looking at his best friend over Hermione’s head. “Where would I be if I didn’t have you?”  
  
Hermione and Ron flushed identical shades of pleased pink. Harry leaned back against the pillow and plotted smugly to himself.  
  
 _The news about the bond will get out, and Kingsley can’t do anything to stop it.  
  
And if it causes problems with Ginny, then I’ll just explain as best I can and do what I can to make it up to her. Who ever said that I had the right to a relationship free of problems?_   
  
For the moment, he ignored the other nagging questions that tried to force themselves into his mind. There was only so much that he could do at once, and protecting Draco and Severus was the first priority.  
  
 _It always will be_ , he thought, and didn’t realize some of the implications of that thought until later.


	9. Chapter 9

  
“This is very tiresome,” Skeeter said, with a languid roll of her eyes behind her huge glasses. “Must you?” But she was eagerly holding out her hand as she spoke, and Harry grasped it.  
  
“Just a precaution,” Harry said, showing her his teeth. She could take that for a smile if she wanted. “To ensure that you report the _truth_ , which I have an interest in seeing spread, and not your own idiosyncratic version of it.”  
  
Skeeter pretended to look hurt, but it wasn’t even a very good imitation. She’d caught sight of the phoenixes that entwined Harry’s arms by now, and her eyes were burning. She mouthed the Unbreakable Vows absently: to tell only the strict truth that Harry gave her in the interview when she wrote up the article, and not to use her Quick-Quotes Quill. Hermione acted as their Bonder, and then Skeeter sat back, plucked an ordinary quill out of her satchel, and waved it around ostentatiously.  
  
“I have the right writing implement,” she said. “And now I think I deserve the story. _Talk_ , Potter.”  
  
Harry leaned forwards, attempting to compose his mind. He needed just the right words for Skeeter, because even though she would keep her vows—she had to—a careless phrase could still condemn him in a lot of people’s eyes.  
  
But his thoughts were distracted by the letter that he’d received from Severus and Draco when he owled them explaining that he intended to reveal the bond publically, and carefully laying out his reasons for doing so. He’d expected a screed to come back to him, either a long list of advice or an indignant refusal.  
  
Instead, he received a single sheet of paper with a single sentence on it, in letters so precisely inked that he couldn’t even tell which one of them had written it.  
  
 _That is acceptable, and your reasons sound._  
  
Harry wanted to see them face-to-face and talk to them about it. He wanted to argue and thresh out his reasons, because they were the ones most directly affected by it—Harry would be affected, too, but he had an inherent protection in his name—and because they could probably come up with arguments that he, Ron, and Hermione hadn’t thought of.  
  
In short, he missed them. He’d stayed away from them before, but that was his choice. This time wasn’t.  
  
But Skeeter was waiting now, her quill poised, and Harry couldn’t delay any longer because he was, ridiculously, hurt. Draco and Severus had chosen to stay out of sight for now, in each other’s exclusive company. Maybe that was even for the best, given how many threats against them there had been. He needed to forge ahead, and hope everything would work out.  
  
“First of all,” he said, “I defeated Voldemort not only with ancient magic, but with _accidental_ magic.”  
  
Skeeter’s mouth practically watered as she wrote that down. “I should have known,” she whispered to herself. “No ordinary spell could have killed You-Know-Who.” She looked up. “And where do the phoenixes come in?”  
  
“They’re symbols of life and rebirth,” Harry said, obediently reciting the best theory Hermione had been able to formulate. He didn’t know that that was true; maybe Fawkes had been hanging around the Shrieking Shack and the accidental magic had incorporated his image into the bonds that way. Harry wondered if he would ever know. “And I wanted Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy to survive. Voldemort had them in the Shrieking Shack on Hogwarts’s grounds. He was going to kill them.”  
  
Skeeter sighed rapturously, and spent a few minutes scribbling, before she nodded at Harry to go on. “So you rescued them?”  
  
“Yes. I wished so strongly for them to live that my accidental magic acted.” Harry thought back to the moment that the bond had come to life and shook his head. It was still difficult for him to separate what had actually happened from what he _thought_ had happened, or what seemed to have happened. “It reached out to the Dark Marks that Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy carried on their arms. It transformed them, and also my scar.” He pushed back his fringe. “You must have wondered why my scar’s gone.”  
  
Looking flattered because he’d assumed she was intelligent enough to ask the question, Skeeter nodded.  
  
“The bond transformed it,” Harry said simply, and lifted his arms. “It transformed—” He hesitated for a moment over the names, then took the plunge. “Draco and Severus’s Dark Marks, too. They carry the marks of phoenixes, and so do I. Through them, we can feel each other’s emotions, share magic, and tell when someone else in the bond is in danger.”  
  
“A bond.” Skeeter looked as if she were about to faint, but her hand traveled across the parchment as fast as ever. “Why haven’t you revealed the bonds before now?”  
  
“I was told it wouldn’t be politically wise.” Though Harry knew his actions would probably do it anyway, he didn’t want to alienate Kingsley if he could help it. “Because, after all, who would want to see the Chosen One bonded to two former Death Eaters?” He shrugged with one shoulder. “But I think that’s stupid. They’re bonded to me, and the bond isn’t going to go away, and that’s an end of it.”  
  
“But no end to the questions people will ask.” Skeeter gave him a shark’s smile.  
  
“I know.” Harry pulled his legs up beneath him and tried to settle himself in for what looked like a long interrogation. At least Hermione was hovering to the side, keeping a stern eye on Skeeter, and she could interrupt if things got too bad. “What else do you think the public should know?’  
  
*  
  
“I do not believe he will go through with it.”  
  
Draco paused and looked over the kitchen table at Severus. Severus was not looking at him; he was looking at the plate of eggs and toast in front of him, with a concentrated attention that told Draco how hard he was working to focus primarily on that. His fork and spoon picked steadily away, but somehow didn’t manage to lift many mouthfuls.  
  
Draco sighed, pushed his own plate—already cleared—out of the way, and leaned across the table to put his hand on Severus’s wrist. Severus glanced up, his eyes narrowed and his mouth drawn tight. He would say something sarcastic in a moment, Draco thought, and then the whole conversation would be diverted into another channel. He had to speak before that could happen.  
  
“What makes you think so, Severus? Because he didn’t want to do something in the past is no guarantee that he won’t do it now. We should have learned that much about him in the past month.”  
  
Severus’s nostrils flared, and he made a sharp jerk with his hand, as if he were going to pull it out from under Draco’s restraining grip. In the end, he flexed his fingers and relaxed them, perhaps because Draco tightened his grasp and gave him a stubborn look.  
  
“Harry has made it clear that he did not choose to have us in his life.” Severus’s voice was low but savage. He flexed his fingers again, this time digging them into the table as if they were claws. “He grants us concessions, such as his emotions and his presence—”  
  
“Those are too big to be minor concessions,” Draco pointed out. He felt a distant amusement that he was defending Harry Potter, of all people.  
  
Severus gave him an ugly glare. Draco hung onto his hand. He wasn’t betraying Severus, but trying to help both him and Harry. He wouldn’t be put off simply because Severus was in a bad mood.  
  
“Then he has made some changes,” Severus said between gritted teeth. “But in all his changes, he has made it clear that he remains essentially a _private_ citizen. It is too much trouble for him to reveal what makes him grant us these concessions. It is too much trouble for him to spend Christmas Day with us. He was glad enough to see us leave hospital the day before yesterday.” He tried to fold his arms, but he couldn’t because Draco still had hold of his hand. He flushed in frustration. “There is a certain _edge_ to our relationship that will always remain. Beyond that, he cannot pass. And revealing the bond as he proposes to is an action beyond that edge. Granger may have talked him into it. She will not manage to make him stay committed to such an action.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth to retort, but the _Daily Prophet_ owl swung through the kitchen at that moment, and dropped the paper on the table. Severus snatched it up and gave Draco a triumphant glance.  
  
“Do you see? He has not—”  
  
They both caught sight of the photograph on the front page at the same time: Harry sitting up in his hospital bed, his sleeves drawn back so that the phoenixes were visible, his robe raised so that the scar across his gut showed, his expression determined and cautious at the same time. The headline above the picture screamed: **HARRY POTTER: BONDED TO DEATH EATERS!**  
  
Draco only just managed to read the first words of the article before Severus flung the paper on the table and stalked away in a rage. Draco watched in silence as he went in the direction of the potions lab. A moment later, the ringing slam of a door echoed through the house.  
  
Draco gave a thin smile. He knew that Severus was angrier at himself than Harry. He did not like to be wrong.  
  
 _Given time, he’ll come around._  
  
With a luxurious sigh, Draco settled down to read the article. He expected plenty of praise of himself, of his selflessness and bravery, and if it was missing, then he knew what to tease Harry about when he saw him next.  
  
*  
  
 _James Potter’s son. The bane of my existence. One who controls the bonds that control me. His life is my life, his death my death. He can cause me pain merely by suffering it, and he is headed for a career as an Auror! Thoughtless, selfish, foolish—_  
  
Severus halted in his pacing and lowered his head into his hands.  
  
He could have done well to convince himself as long as he had his target in front of him. Harry would have yelled back, and Severus could have built his defenses up again by seeing the boy’s stubbornness and loudness and other negative qualities. He had managed an adequate substitute for that by disbelieving what had come in Harry’s letter yesterday, as well. He could not mean to reveal the bond. Severus had sent back the single sentence in _their_ letter because he knew Harry could not mean it.  
  
And now…  
  
Now, he had. Now, he had willingly made himself a social pariah and, Severus thought, directly disobeyed the orders of the Minister because he wanted to protect them, exactly as he had argued in his letter.  
  
 _He has done what I thought he would not. He has made a gesture that will weaken his standing in the eyes of the public and almost certainly will weaken his relationship with young Miss Weasley, if not fracture it.  
  
He has given up the things I thought he most valued for the sake of Draco and I._  
  
Severus had been wrong—so wildly and vividly wrong that the contradiction was flaying him alive and he could not stand it. He started to take a step towards his Potions ingredients. He would brew a new potion and see if that might calm him down.   
  
But the memory of what Harry had looked like in the photograph in the _Prophet_ stopped him. Injured, nervous, weak in the way that Severus would have castigated him for looking in Potions class or Defense Against the Dark Arts, when he had been convinced that this thin boy would never defeat the Dark Lord.  
  
Yes, all those things, and still defiant with it.   
  
Severus shut his eyes.   
  
For the first time, he had to acknowledge that Harry had inherited several of Lily’s fine qualities: her utter determination to stand up for the persecuted, her disinterested selflessness, her ability to see through bluster and anger and a bad public reputation to the goodness and the vulnerability beneath. Combine that with his father’s stubbornness, and Severus knew that he could call Harry Potter or his best friends Mudbloods, and Harry would yell and growl at him and still come back.  
  
He had someone to depend on.   
  
The revelation shattered convictions he hadn’t even realized he still held, and left him desperately scrambling for new ones to replace them.  
  
Severus shuddered and took a deep breath. Simply because Harry had come through on this one aspect of making the bond public did not mean he always would. Severus had to be cautious. Once, he had trusted someone completely and he had had to learn that complete confidence was a fool’s dream.  
  
But the hope that this could be something permanent remained, deeply-seeded in him now, and Severus knew it would not be so easy to rip the roots up.  
  
He opened his eyes and moved briskly towards the Potions vials. Now that he had made the decision to accept what Harry had done, he could brew. He needed the distraction. He had come as far as he could for the moment towards complete acceptance of Harry. He was not required to keep slogging on.  
  
Brewing would serve as a distraction from something else, as well: how that image of Harry in the newspaper photograph had become a bright locus of _want_ in his mind.   
  
*  
  
“Draco!” Harry heard the intense happiness in his voice, and knew it was making Ron and Hermione and Ginny, all gathered around his bed, stare, and he didn’t care. He leaned forwards, stretching out his hand. “How are you? Where’s Severus?”  
  
“Must we always come as a pair?” But the light tone to Draco’s voice, as much as the way he practically pranced into the room, told Harry he was teasing. His fingers swept across Harry’s palm before he shook hands in the normal fashion. Harry flushed.  
  
He could feel, besides the heat in his cheeks, Ginny’s hard stare from the side. He didn’t sigh, but only because he was concentrating hard on not doing it. She’d agreed to let him publicize the bond in a dull voice, saying that of course it was the right thing to do and so he had to do it. But she hadn’t liked it.  
  
“In all seriousness,” Draco went on, settling on the side of the bed itself as if he had a perfect right to sit there, “he’s sulking because he predicted that you wouldn’t do everything you said in your letter, and then you did. That’s why you got as curt a response as you did.” He leaned a little closer, and let Harry see a light in his eyes that Harry hoped no one else noticed. “Given my choice,” Draco murmured, “I would have written a much longer letter. A _much_ ,” and his voice slowed and grew languid, “longer one.”  
  
Harry was glad that Hermione was there, because she interrupted briskly, and spared him an awkward moment where he would have sat there staring, hypnotized, into Draco’s eyes. “All right, Harry, here’s the letter from Kingsley. I don’t know if you want to answer it too quickly. If you keep him waiting, that shows you’re in control, and not jumping to his beck and call.”  
  
“Is it addressed to me under his name, or under the Ministry seal?” Harry tore his gaze away from Draco and dropped his hand. He heard Draco chuckle softly. He was glad that the sheets still covered his lap, and that no one could see his body’s light shiver.  
  
“Under the Ministry seal.” Hermione’s lips were pressed tightly together as she passed him the letter, shaking her head. Harry tried to return her frown with a smile—it might not be as bad as they thought—and then opened the envelope.  
  
It was exactly as bad as they thought. In fact, it was worse.  
  
 _Harry Potter,  
  
As you have seen fit to act against the Minister’s direct advice and against the public good, the Ministry can see no reason to retain you in the Auror program. We need Aurors who will be careful of both their personal safety and the safety of others, and respectful of both sides of political questions._   
  
Harry shut his eyes, and spent a long moment carefully not looking at Kingsley’s signature at the bottom of that document. It didn’t matter if he hadn’t actually written it; he had signed it, and that was enough.  
  
He felt someone take the letter from him, and assumed it was Hermione. Not until Draco spoke did Harry realize it had been him. “They’re trying to pressure you to come back into the fold. Surely you realize that?”  
  
“Of course Harry realizes that,” Ginny flared, fighting back against the condescension that even Harry could hear in Draco’s voice. “You _can_ stop speaking to him like he’s stupid. Surely you realize that.”  
  
Harry opened his eyes and took a deep breath, patting Ginny’s arm absently when she wound it around his waist. Oddly, Draco’s reaction had steadied him. Yes, this was a threat, a political countermove to his first political move, and it was useless to sit there wishing that things could have been different.  
  
“So what do you suggest we do about it?” he asked Draco, and made sure to look directly at Draco’s face. Draco was studying the arm Ginny had around his waist with a bland expression, but his eyes slid back to Harry when he spoke.  
  
“Isn’t that also obvious?” Draco rolled his eyes overdramatically when Harry shook his head. Harry found himself grinning and relaxing. “You make _this_ public, too. The Ministry wants the Boy-Who-Lived to do exactly as they say, or they’re going to take his job away from him—the job they’ve spent so much time saying he’s perfect for. Shacklebolt’s just cursed himself in the foot, only he doesn’t know it.”  
  
“Oh, that would _infuriate_ him,” Ron said, sounding proud and smug. “I bet he hasn’t considered how the public will react. They’ve been told not to worry about the remaining Death Eaters, that the Chosen One will protect them, and now he isn’t going to get the chance to do that! The Ministry’s turning its back on all its own propaganda.”  
  
Harry got to see something then he had thought he would never see, largely because it couldn’t exist: Draco regarding Ron with respect.  
  
“Is this the best thing to do?” Hermione was looking anxiously between all of them, biting her lip. “I mean, if it gets the Minister angry—”  
  
“I don’t bloody care, at this point,” Harry said roughly, and ignored the gasps about his language from both Ginny and Hermione. “What else do I have to do, what else do I have to _suffer_ , to get him to treat me with some consideration? And you and Severus, too,” he added to Draco. “He saw the Pensieve memories of what you’d done and suffered, but he keeps acting as though you don’t matter! Well, you _do_.” He flung Kingsley’s letter to the floor and wished he was well enough to get up and stamp on it. He did feel all right, lying here, but whenever he moved around, he got queasy and had to stop.  
  
Draco preened a little, tilting his head back and stroking a hand through his hair. Then he caught himself and murmured, “When people want to, they can ignore the evidence of their own eyes.”  
  
“I know that,” Harry said. “But you’ve proven over and over that you’re not evil, and as for me—you’d think defeating a Dark Lord was enough, but I reckon _not_.” He was hissing by the end of it, and his eyes were fixed on the letter. He could see Kingsley’s face again when he’d asked Harry not to tell anyone about the bond and agreed that they could prosecute Pepperfield after all. So reasonable. So nice.  
  
All that time, he hadn’t really planned to support Harry if something came up that touched on the bond. Apparently he was panicked about what people would do if they found out that the Chosen One was bonded to two Death Eaters.  
  
 _He should have been panicked about_ we _would do_ , Harry thought, with a heavy, cold kind of rage that was completely unfamiliar to him. But he thought he needed to start feeling emotions like this if he was going to protect Draco and Severus properly. _I’m going to do something pretty bloody drastic to counteract this shite, that’s what I’m going to do._  
  
“There’s also this letter,” Hermione said, almost timidly, and held it out to him.  
  
Harry snatched at it, then realized Hermione’s eyes were wide, and did his best to calm down and smile an apology at her. He studied the letter, but didn’t recognize the handwriting or the seal, a swan sailing with wings spread wide and two young cygnets beneath them. He opened it, knowing Hermione would have already checked it for hexes.  
  
 _Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
You grow more interesting day by day. Now you are bonded to the son of a woman I knew well at Hogwarts, and to the descendant of an ancient family whom I had more regard for than they may have deserved. A fine family, the Princes. You might ask Severus Snape—who should have taken his mother’s name—whether he remembers me.   
  
You can count on my support against any ridiculous moves the Ministry pulls. I have often observed that the Ministry does not know its head from its arse.   
  
Brynhildr Swanfair._  
  
Harry blinked, tried to search his memory, and had to shake his head. He didn’t recognize the name, and he didn’t know how much her support was worth. He extended the letter to Malfoy, who gasped when he saw the seal. That might be a good sign or a bad one. Harry turned back to Hermione.  
  
“Do you think we should call Skeeter again?”  
  
“I don’t see that there’s a better option,” Hermione said. “Especially since she might feel cut out of things if we went to someone else. And we want as many people to know about this as soon as possible. We already know that the _Daily Prophet_ will print a special edition for her articles if they need to.” She rose to her feet. “Do you want me to contact her?”  
  
“Please.” Harry turned to Draco. His face was nearly as pale as the letter. Harry frowned. “Is it a bad idea to rely on Swanfair for support?”  
  
“I don’t know that we can _rely_ on her,” Draco said. “But—this is significant news. Her family was once as rich as my family was. They’ve lost some money, but none of their prestige. Brynhildr Swanfair didn’t send her children to Hogwarts because she felt it wouldn’t have provided them as good an education as she could give them with tutors. And she held herself apart from the Dark Lord’s army because she didn’t think he was stern _enough_.”  
  
“Does she use Dark Arts?” Harry wasn’t about to give Kingsley material for a solid accusation against him.  
  
Draco gave him a pitying glance. “Of _course_ she does. That doesn’t mean she’s fool enough to practice them openly. But she can influence political events at levels that I don’t think you could touch for years.” He gave the letter a private smile and turned it over to run a finger over the seal. “Swanfair. Well. Severus _will_ be surprised. I had no idea she was friends with his mother’s family. He doesn’t talk much about them.”  
  
 _With good reason_ , Harry thought, and then immediately felt ashamed. That was a thought the old Harry, the one who hated Severus, might have. He was trying not to be that old Harry any longer. “Why don’t you take the letter with you? Maybe Severus will pick up some hidden message or warning in it that we missed.”  
  
Draco’s eyes darted up to his. He looked offended for a moment, then amused, then thoughtful. In the end, he nodded and tucked the letter into his robe pocket. Harry was glad that he seemed to have understood the silent message Harry wanted to convey: that if Severus needed solid proof, this time, from someone other than Harry, he would have it.  
  
“This one says that they’ll start a Howler campaign against the Minister.” Ron was reading another letter with a look of great glee. “And she says that Swanfair suggested it.” He lowered the letter and grinned at Harry. “I think you’ve got a powerful friend if you want to accept her help, mate.”  
  
 _That’s just it_ , Harry thought. _I’m not sure I do. But Kingsley is forcing my hand, and so I have to go ahead and act like I don’t care about being kicked out of the Auror program. Kingsley has to realize I’m not going to crawl just so that he’ll readmit me._   
  
“Let’s start out accepting it, and see what happens,” he said.   
  
No use pretending to himself: he valued the slight smile Draco gave him when he heard that pronouncement more than the squeeze of Ginny’s arm about his waist.  
  
*  
  
Draco paused. He had Apparated into a street near their house in Hogsmeade—he and Severus had been careful never to choose the same one twice—and had turned the corner a moment ago. He had not expected to see anyone standing outside the gate of the front garden, staring at the wards as though he resented them for holding him away from a prize. At the very least, an attacker should have hidden when they heard Draco’s footsteps.  
  
But this man turned and stared at Draco as if _he_ were the intruder. Draco whistled through his teeth when he recognized him.  
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic.  
  
After a moment, Draco decided that he wasn’t about to let the man intimidate him. He was trying his level best to intimidate Harry and force him into giving up the things he was doing for the good of the bond. How could Draco do anything else but keep up his part of that defense? The three of them had to stand together.  
  
Draco lifted his head and gave a lofty nod, as if he had just this moment deigned to notice the Minister. Then he strolled down the street towards him. Now that he was looking for them, he could make out the bright robes of Aurors standing on guard behind convenient trees.  
  
“Good day, Minister,” Draco said when he got up to the gate, working hard to achieve the affable tone his father used to greet inferiors. “Is there something I can help you with?” He extended his hand so the wards could “taste” him and heard them fade away. He didn’t turn his gaze or his bland, inquiring smile away from Shacklebolt, though.  
  
“I need to know at whose instigation Harry Potter decided to act against me.” The Minister had a broad politician’s face, cold and closed, with lines of old anger around the eyes. The Aurors inched a few steps nearer. Draco forced himself to stand bold and proud. He was close enough to home that he could duck immediately inside the wards if danger threatened.  
  
“His own instigation,” Draco said. He wanted to protect Harry, yes, but shielding him from the truth would only make him look weak. “He was the one who came up with the plan to tell the newspapers about the bond. Unless you’re referring to another incident I’m not familiar with.”  
  
Shacklebolt’s face closed even more. Then he leaned forwards and adopted a tone that was probably meant to be persuasive. “The Ministry retains a staff of experts skilled in unusual subjects, Mr. Malfoy. I’m sure this doesn’t come as a surprise to you, since who else would need so much esoteric knowledge to use for the good of the wizarding community?”  
  
 _And who else could exert so much pressure_? But Draco nodded and smiled as if he were the toddling babe the Minister had evidently mistaken him for. “Of course.”  
  
“One of our experts has used the available information about your bond,” Shacklebolt said, “to construct a scenario that reasonably approximates what happened. He thinks he may know enough to break the bond.”  
  
Draco went still. He realized that he couldn’t conceal his shock or his fascination a moment later, but he could stand there and consider the matter in silence, so that was what he did.  
  
The bond was complex. He had seen that when Severus used the Hidden History Potion. But that did not mean it was _incomprehensibly_ complex, or that no one could unwind the braids of it and find some way to clip it short.  
  
He tried to imagine living without Harry’s emotions, without the necessary closeness to him and Severus—no, he and Severus were lovers, and they had enough between them to sustain a relationship in the absence of the bond. But they could be free of Harry’s resentment at having ended up with them. They could be free of his pity and his protection.   
  
And Draco ran at once into a single, silent, overwhelming objection: he didn’t _want_ to.  
  
“Your offer is very generous, Minister,” he said, meeting Shacklebolt’s eyes. Shacklebolt looked triumphant as Draco said those words. Draco wanted to laugh. _Does he think an admission as good as an agreement_? “But I’d be interested in knowing why you’re making this offer instead of one to try a woman who, let us remember, tried to _kill_ Harry.”  
  
One of the Aurors, the one who stood closest to the Minister’s back, stirred uneasily. Draco deliberately gave no sign that he’d noticed, but he thought it interesting, and would remember it.  
  
“There are complications to the political situation it would not be diplomatic to discuss in public,” Shacklebolt said, from behind a stiff mask of a face. “Griselda Huxley has her own set of supporters, and we need everyone involved in the building of the wizarding world—”  
  
“I think,” Draco said, with as gentle a bite as possible in his voice, “that you need Harry’s help more than you need the help of a random Mu—Muggleborn who happened to save a few others during the war.”  
  
Shacklebolt half-shook his head before he caught himself. _Interesting_. Draco was suddenly glad he was the one who was having this conversation, as frustrating as it was and as inexplicable as Shacklebolt’s actions were. He was less politically naïve than Harry ( _seaweed_ was less politically naïve than Harry), and Severus had a bad habit of letting his preconceptions blind him when he was angry. Draco could notice the interesting things that Shacklebolt said and did and carry them away in his head for later reference.  
  
“I want to know if you’ll accept the offer,” Shacklebolt said, leaning forwards. “To break the bond or not.”  
  
“I’ll have to discuss it with my bondmates, of course,” Draco said. “Even if I want to be free, they may not want to be.”  
  
“My man feels sufficiently confident to try unbinding you no matter what the other two say,” Shacklebolt said.  
  
Draco gave Shacklebolt a polite and pitying smile. “When at least one partner in the bond, Harry, has good reason to be wary of you? I don’t think we’ll try it that way, thanks all the same. Call again when Harry is released from hospital. It’ll be more _diplomatic_ to discuss this with all three of us at once.” He turned and began to walk up the path to the front door.  
  
“Jenkins,” said Shacklebolt, with a sound like a sigh.  
  
Draco heard the beginnings of a chant in Latin, and felt a strong shiver run through him, at a level deeper than the bones. _The bond. They’re trying to untie the bond._  
  
Draco dropped to the ground and rolled towards the foundation of the house, where Severus had placed the strongest wards. The magic gripping him faltered and fell apart. Draco got to his knees, not daring to lift his head above a certain level in case the picking started again, and called, “Severus!”  
  
Out he came, so silent and dark that Draco felt an apprehensive tremor move through his own body. He started to stand up and catch Severus’s arm; in his present temper, he might use Dark Arts, and that could end badly for everyone. But the magic gripped him and made the phoenix mark on his arm flare again, so he dropped back to a crouch.  
  
Either Jenkins couldn’t use the magic on more than one person at once, or Severus was moving too fast for him to do so. At any rate, Severus Stunned the Minister and one of the Aurors, and spent a few minutes dueling with the other before he laid him flat on the ground and used an _Expelliarmus_ to summon his wand. Then he turned around and knelt in front of Draco. His face was absolutely white.  
  
“Are you well?” he whispered.  
  
Draco reached up and laid a hand cautiously on his shoulder, then relaxed. The pain he’d felt before had retreated to a faint stinging in his phoenix mark. “Well enough,” he said. “He was attacking the bond and not me personally, Severus. Maybe that had something to do with it.”  
  
“Do _not_ minimize this.” Severus spoke with a force that caused Draco to shut his mouth hastily. “I have done more reading about bonds of this sort. Unbind them, and everything that happened as a result of them is also undone. You and I would once again be in danger of death, Draco, because we would once again bear the Dark Mark. And the Dark Lord would have returned.”  
  
Draco shut his eyes and started to shake with reaction. Severus stooped over him, with murmurs too soft for Draco to make out the individual words.   
  
“What happened? I got here as soon as I could.”  
  
Draco looked up in disbelief. Harry was running towards them, wrapped only in a loose robe that rippled and billowed around him, revealing the slightly paler scar on his stomach all too well. He reached out an arm, needing the contact at the moment too much to ask for details, and Harry dropped to his knees and looped his arms around Draco’s shoulders and Severus’s both. Draco felt Severus tense and then calm again.  
  
The bond was alive with raging wildfire as Harry snarled in a low voice, “Kingsley tried to unpick the bond, didn’t he? I heard this high scream in my ears, and then my phoenix marks levitated me out of my bed and tugged me towards the house. I didn’t know what was going on, but—”  
  
“That is what happened,” Severus said, in a heavy tone that made Harry shut up and turn his head in Severus’s direction. “And now we must decide what is to be done. The Minister is Stunned and lying on our doorstep. That will not last for long.”  
  
Draco nodded. Harry didn’t move, though. “When I thought you were in danger,” he said in a low voice, staring somewhere between them, “when I thought I might lose you, I didn’t know what I would do.”  
  
Severus froze, staring. Draco reckoned that he was simply incapable of responding to something like that at the moment.  
  
So it was up to Draco to take the active part in the bond again, and he did, tightening the hold of his arm around Harry and murmuring into his ear, “Shacklebolt will ask you if you want to be free of the bond. I _know_ he will. What are you going to answer?”  
  
Harry turned to look at him. His eyes were shining with that reckless light that Draco had seen cause trouble for him in the past.  
  
But he answered with the confidence and maturity of someone more than twice his age. “It’s unthinkable.”  
  
Draco turned his head so that his cheek rested on Harry’s shoulder and shut his eyes. He did that partially because he would betray more than he meant to if he kept them open now, and he was not quite ready for that—at least not until Harry was ready to open the bonds the other way and feel their emotions.  
  
But he did it partially because he had seen Severus bow his head and sigh slowly through his parted lips, like a weary traveler coming home at last.  
  
*  
  
“What were you thinking?”  
  
Harry hadn’t realized how easy it would be to slip into a hard, interrogating mode. Ledbetter and Scarman and the other instructors had told him it was hard to question prisoners, especially when one thought they might have acted from good motives. Harry had listened to their tales in awe and wondered if he could ever do it himself.  
  
But it turned out to be no trouble at all when he was facing someone who had tried to hurt his bondmates. Severus had Transfigured his hospital garment into a proper robe so that he wouldn’t look ridiculous, and Kingsley was currently sitting in Harry’s bedroom, suitably far from the door and rescue, under a partial _Petrificus_ so that only his face could move. Harry stared at him with arms folded and waited for an answer.  
  
Kingsley closed his eyes slightly and said, “We had received—persuasive evidence—that your decisions were no longer your own, that you were acting under the mental control of someone else. Probably Snape. I thought using shock tactics might make you aware of how out-of-character you were acting, and wake up to questioning the control. But when that did not work, and when we found that your—bondmates—were unwilling to consider their own self-interest, we knew we had to destroy the bond.”  
  
“What was this evidence?” Harry asked quietly. He thought about pacing back and forth, the way he really wanted to, but decided it would be more effective if he stood still and stared at Kingsley instead. Sure enough, Kingsley started to shake slightly a moment later, as if he were trying to fight the _Petrificus_ to fidget. “Who gave it to you? Why was it persuasive?”  
  
Kingsley raised his head. His expression was neutral now. Harry wondered if he was beginning to understand what the consequences of his rash actions might have been. “We have had experts studying the bond,” he said. “And your Auror instructors have observed you. Your behavior has changed significantly since you started associating with Snape and Malfoy.”  
  
Harry took a deep breath to control his irritation. “Of _course_ it has,” he said. “I have to watch out for them and protect them.” He thought he heard a shuffle from the corridor where Severus and Draco were eavesdropping on the conversation. He hoped they would be quiet and not burst in.  
  
“In unexpected ways,” Kingsley said, glaring at him. “And Auror Jenkins, who studied the bond, uncovered a strong trace of Dark magic in it.”  
  
“Because it was made from Dark Marks and my scar,” Harry said. “Honestly, you don’t have any more than _that_?”  
  
As he had hoped would happen, his scorn stung Kingsley into volunteering more information. “Bonds such as this one tend to give one partner a measure of control over the others,” he said. “Given the change in your behavior and the way that your ‘bondmates’ can summon you at a moment’s notice—”  
  
“I’ll thank you to speak of them with respect,” Harry said quietly.  
  
“And that’s what I mean!” Kingsley roared, going red. “You’ve _changed_. You were focused on your Auror training and devoted to your girlfriend. Now you spend more time with your ‘bondmates’ than anyone else, you’re going to live with them, and you defend them as you never used to. Someone must be in control of a bond like this, and the most likely choice is that it’s a Death Eater skilled in Legilimency. Once he’s in control of you, then he could start influencing you against the Ministry. He’s already started, prompting you to have that interview with Skeeter and—”  
  
Harry pulled his fringe back from his forehead and his sleeves up from his arms. “The bond took my scar and gave me phoenix marks on _both_ arms, where both Draco and Severus only have one,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m the one in control of the bond if anyone is. Did you know that I can—” He cut himself off. He wasn’t about to tell Kingsley that he’d almost willed Draco and Severus to die in the Hogwarts hospital wing.   
  
“I’m spending more time with them, and exhibiting the other ‘suspicious’ behavior, because I’ve finally realized the risk of staying at a distance from them,” he continued. “I don’t want them to die. So, yes, I’ll spend time with them, and live in the same house with them, and think about them as well as about Auror training in the future.” Then he cocked his head thoughtfully to the side. “Not that I’ll have to worry about that, since you’ve kicked me out of Auror training.”  
  
Kingsley flexed his arms as though trying to break out of his bonds. Harry raised an eyebrow and strengthened the hold of the _Petrificus_ on his lower body. “We can’t have someone in the Ministry who has your power and your potential hostility to us,” Kingsley said. “I saw that when you demanded a trial for Pepperfield. Once, you wouldn’t have cared who hurt Malfoy. We know that you were rivals with him throughout your school career. We thought we could count on that same tension to make you oppose pure-blood decisions like the ones the Malfoys want to force through. If we can’t—”  
  
Harry closed his eyes. He felt disgusted with the universe. “I’m not going to support pure-blood legislation because Draco’s my bondmate,” he said. “And I’m not going to let someone hurt him because I used to dislike him. God, Kingsley, do you ever stop being a politician for one moment and _think_? Did you think about what would happen if you let Huxley attack me and go unpunished, for example?”  
  
“That wasn’t—as planned,” Kingsley said with some difficulty. “Huxley was one of those who had expressed concern to us, but she said only that she planned to speak to you about it and ask you to reconsider living with two Death Eaters. We didn’t know that she would attack you. Please accept my apologies over that, Harry.”  
  
Harry opened one eye and looked at him sidelong. “But you’re not sorry enough to try her.”  
  
Kingsley flushed more deeply. “If we did, she would reveal some information that would cause further upsets for us if it got out.”  
  
“You realize,” Harry said, “that every word you speak only gives me further reason to turn against the Ministry. It seems to be an astonishingly badly-organized and ill-run place.” He wondered for a moment where he was getting these words, then smiled sourly. _I suspect that’s what comes of paying attention to my teachers for once._   
  
“We had to do something,” Kingsley said. “I’m sorry that the situation got out of control, but, Harry, surely you see that we had to do something?” His voice was gentle, pleading.  
  
“No,” Harry said. “You could have come and talked to me about your concerns, but that doesn’t seem to have occurred to you at any step of the way!” He was shouting by the end. He took a deep breath and did his best to calm down.  
  
“I did try to do that when you accused Pepperfield,” Kingsley said. “Your attitude convinced me that you wouldn’t be receptive.”  
  
Harry surveyed him coolly. “That was a pathetic attempt.”  
  
Kingsley set his jaw. “You’ve got to understand what sort of message it sends to the public, your living with two Death Eaters,” he said. “You’re _powerful_ , Harry. We _have_ to control the messages you send. This is the wrong one.”  
  
 _And that’s the reason this happened_ , Harry decided. _He can’t see me, the person. He only sees Harry Potter, the vehicle of interpretation. Someone interpreting me wrongly panics him and sends him veering in mad directions. He also seems prone to think that a few people getting upset means the whole of the wizarding world getting upset._   
  
A vicious idea came to him suddenly. Harry paused and wondered if he should warn Kingsley. Then he decided to give him one more chance.  
  
“I won’t stop living with Draco and Severus,” he said. “I won’t stop protecting them. I won’t agree to let you unpick the bond. But if I work with you closely on other things and work my way back into the Auror program and act chastened when you need me to, will you try Huxley and Pepperfield? Properly? And agree to stop persecuting Draco and Severus?”  
  
“Have you forgotten what Snape did?” Kingsley whispered. “He _killed Dumbledore._ And you stand here calling him by his first name. As if he were an old friend. As if you’ve _forgiven_ him.”  
  
Harry studied him again. Kingsley’s teeth were grinding, his voice barely let go between them. Harry had thought it was a good idea to have a Minister of Magic who had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but at the moment he recognized some of the drawbacks.  
  
“Dumbledore made him swear an Unbreakable Vow,” Harry said. “You know that. He’s the greatest hero of the lot of us. You know that.”  
  
Kingsley shook his head. “I can’t accept someone as a hero who once wore the Dark Mark on his arm in all sincerity. I can’t, Harry. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m sorry, too,” Harry said. He would have liked to stay with the Ministry. Losing its protection would mean less protection for Draco and Severus, and a harder and more winding road to get his bondmates respected by the public. But he wasn’t about to stay close to someone who had damaged them, and couldn’t even promise future protection for them to make up for it. “You won’t agree to my bargain?”  
  
Kingsley shook his head.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, and then turned for the door.  
  
*  
  
 _He’s the greatest hero of the lot of us._   
  
Severus did not know how he was going to recover from the shocks of this day.  
  
Harry really had got the article into the paper, the way he promised he would. He had come to their rescue again when he felt the bond being tampered with, and refused to have it removed. He had let Severus and Draco listen in on what could have been a confidential conversation with the Minister, wherein he fought for them like a bulldog. And now, this.   
  
Draco and Harry both wanted the bond deeply enough to fight against those who would try to take it away. Severus had not yet had the chance to fight, but at least he knew for certain what his own feelings were on _this_ matter.  
  
 _I want this._   
  
Then Harry opened the door of his bedroom, stepped out, shut the door, cast a spell on it that would prevent Shacklebolt from hearing anything they were saying, turned back with his eyes blazing bright, and said, “Do you think it’s too vicious if I call Skeeter _right now_ and let her see the Minister tied up in our house?”


	10. Chapter 10

  
“If we make such an enemy of the Minister as exposing him to the rest of the populace will,” Severus said, “then we must prepare to raise strong defenses, or perhaps leave the country.”  
  
Harry leaned forwards. Draco frowned as he noted the pallor of his face. Someone taking the potions that he knew Harry was taking for the pain of the Gut Chewing Curse and the rearrangement of his intestines really should not be dashing around. But Harry’s words showed how little he would welcome such fussing at the moment. “But would trying to make a compromise with him keep us any safer? I don’t think it will, given that he seems more afraid of Huxley than of us.”  
  
“I think Harry’s right,” Draco murmured.  
  
Severus turned and stared at him. Draco raised his head and tried to ignore the feeling that he was betraying Severus. There would be disagreements between the bondmates sometimes, that was all, and he would have to stand with the one he thought was right.   
  
The warmth of Harry’s hand on his shoulder was welcome, in the wake of that realization. Draco held Severus’s eyes, however, as he took Swanfair’s letter from his robe pocket, because Severus was the one he needed to convince. “There are already other people involved. They might consider it an insult if we tried to reconcile with the Minister. And as Harry pointed out, we simply can’t _trust_ Shacklebolt. He hates you, Severus, and he’s indifferent as to whether I live or die. Even Harry’s heroism—”  
  
Harry snorted. Draco gave him a curious sidelong glance, and noticed Severus doing the same thing. _Hmmm. It seems that Harry has some contempt for the things that he should be proudest of. That will be a problem in the future._   
  
“—can’t protect him from Shacklebolt’s desire to play politics,” Draco continued, as if he hadn’t noticed the interruption. “It’s true that we can’t trust Swanfair and her kind, either, but at least we won’t be taken off-guard by a desire to believe the best of them. I think it’s most intelligent of us to accept what’s happened as a _fait accompli_ , accept that Shacklebolt has separated Harry decisively from the Ministry, and use the allies and the defenses that offer themselves, like publicity, to protect ourselves.”  
  
Severus let out a little grunt under his breath, still studying Swanfair’s letter. Draco hid a smile. It was actually easy to manipulate Severus if one mentioned the intelligence of such and such a gambit. He was anxious not to appear stupid.   
  
“But will that keep you safe?” Harry interrupted. “I want to do what will keep you safe, before anything else.”  
  
Once again, Severus glanced at Harry, this time over the top of the letter. Draco gave a shallow nod when those dark eyes turned to him, telling Severus he had noticed the thing missing in Harry’s words. _He wants to keep us safe. What about himself?_   
  
But that was something to be dealt with later. For now, Draco said, “Severus told me that the bond, if unraveled, is likely to undo everything that we’ve accomplished with it. So the Dark Marks would come back, and the Dark Lord, and—”  
  
“And I would stop feeling as close to you as I do now, right?” Harry finished. “Of course we can’t allow that to happen.” There was a lingering note of horror in his voice.  
  
Draco resisted the temptation to laugh in triumph, but it was hard. Severus lifted his head at the same time and said, with a brightness in his voice that Draco wondered if Harry would detect, “We _cannot_ allow the bond to be unraveled, and I am not sure that Shacklebolt has given up the idea, or would believe us if we told him the truth. Yes, Harry. Call Skeeter.”  
  
Harry nodded without smiling, climbed to his feet, and turned in the direction of the front door. Severus cast a critical eye at his back and murmured a spell Draco didn’t recognize. “What does that do?” he whispered, pushing closer to Severus across the couch.  
  
“Keeps him on his feet a bit longer,” Severus said. “He will need to collapse soon. So much constant exercise and dashing about is not recommended for someone recovering from the Gut Chewing Curse. But collapsing in front of the Minister, his Aurors, and Skeeter would be fatal for our project in more ways than one.”  
  
He put an arm around Draco’s shoulder. It crushed down possessively, while his gaze tracked Harry just as possessively.  
  
Draco closed his eyes to savor the sweetness of the moment. He knew he might as well, since they were unlikely to have many chances to do so in the near future.  
  
 _We do have a bond. It will become stronger than just the mindless clash of our personalities.  
  
We will be more magnificent than anyone thinks we can be._   
  
*  
  
“Well. _Well._ ”  
  
`Skeeter sounded as if she would roll over dead of happiness at any moment. Harry smiled at her wryly and leaned against the wall in what he hoped looked like a casual gesture. In reality, he felt as if he needed the wall to hold him up, but he was _not_ going to admit that to Skeeter. He avoided looking at Kingsley’s face, too, He knew the expression the Minister was wearing would only distress him.  
  
Skeeter wagged a finger at Kingsley. “Was the Minister naughty to Harry the Hero?” she asked. “ _Bad_ Minister. You ought to know where the public sympathy is by now, and you’re doing little if anything to win it to your side.” She shook her head sadly and turned to look at Harry. Her eyes were darting around the bedroom, and Harry, resigned, knew that he ought to expect an article in a little while on “The Room Where the Savior Sleeps.” “What happened, Mr. Potter?”  
  
Harry explained the situation, making sure to emphasize that Kingsley had attacked the bond without knowing what would happen to it, that he had summoned Harry out of hospital to deal with it—here he managed to look tragic and pathetic, and Skeeter smiled at him at in approval—that he had refused absolutely to try Huxley, and that Harry felt as if he would never be safe in Britain as long as Kingsley was Minister.  
  
Skeeter kept uttering long sighs as she wrote things down. Harry noticed that she was using an ordinary quill and not the Quick-Quotes Quill, and relaxed a bit. Though he doubted that everything in this article would be as strictly truthful as it had been in the article about the bond, he doubted she would change much, either. The story itself was too gripping and too interesting for her to do that.  
  
Finally, Skeeter approached Kingsley, who still sat in a chair with his arms tied behind him with the _Petrificus_. “Do you deny any of these accusations, Minister?” she asked helpfully.  
  
“The situation is not as Mr. Potter has reported it,” said Kingsley, glaring over Skeeter’s head at Harry. “Someone who works for the Ministry should show a certain amount of obedience and consideration for the society outside himself. That, Mr. Potter has _not_ shown. He has recklessly allowed his concern for two people to overshadow the larger picture.”  
  
Skeeter turned to Harry. “Is that true?”  
  
Harry waited a moment to answer, supposedly so he could look at Kingsley in pity but really because his breath was getting short and he didn’t want to reveal that. “Did I not tell you,” he asked at last, in the voice of someone surprised by his own carelessness, “that he kicked me out of the Auror program? That was before he attacked the bond, but after he released Huxley, the woman who attempted to murder me, from Auror custody. Apparently I’m not fit to join the exalted ranks of people who do things like that.”  
  
Skeeter cackled, and her quill raced. Harry was sure that final quote was going down exactly as he’d said it. Then she turned to Kingsley again. “And what do you say, sir? _Had_ you kicked Harry Potter, who would have become a brilliant Auror, out of the Auror training program?”  
  
“That is true,” Kingsley said. He’d recovered his poise again, and he smiled slightly at Skeeter. “But once again, there are complications to the situation that you do not know.”  
  
Harry held his breath, and then winced as he felt a sharp pull in his stomach. This was what he’d been worried about. If Skeeter was curious enough, or wanted to present a “balanced” story, then she might listen to Kingsley and be convinced despite everything that Harry had carefully tried to persuade her of.  
  
“I don’t see many complications that could excuse releasing an attempted murderer,” Skeeter said, eyes hard, and turned away from Kingsley as if he had ceased to interest her. “Mr. Potter, is there anything you would like to add?”  
  
Harry sighed and let his gaze fall to the floor as if he were simply overwhelmed. _Severus would be proud of me_ , he thought. “Only,” he whispered, “that it’s hard. I did my best for wizarding society, and now to have them rejecting me…” He let his lip tremble, and looked up helplessly at Skeeter.  
  
Skeeter patted his shoulder, her long nails clicking, her eyes absolutely wide with rapture. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of sympathy once this article is printed, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“Do you really think so?” Harry asked, glancing at Kingsley. He looked as if he wanted to do murder. _You almost did_ , Harry thought. He had no remorse for any action against someone who had tried to hurt his bondmates.  
  
“I do.” Skeeter gave him a peculiar, almost gentle smile, and Harry wondered how many times she had the ability to look behind the façades she reported on. “After all, the public is anxious for ripe, fresh news involving their favorite hero. And they’re looking for a way to choose sides. This gives them a very efficient one.”  
  
“Ms. Skeeter.” Harry had to give it to Kingsley. Even trapped and looking as if he would be the center of a scandal soon, he retained his calm, courteous politician’s demeanor. “If you would only try to learn a bit more—”  
  
“But I don’t want to,” Skeeter said, looking perfectly delighted to say it, and waved her sheaf of parchment at Harry. “You can count on this being in the paper by the evening.” She popped out of the house.   
  
Harry turned to in silence. Kingsley’s face was incredibly red. He breathed through his nose for a moment, and then said, “I have been inside your defenses. I know something about how they operate now.”  
  
“Do you never tire of saying stupid shite?” Harry brushed his hand through his hair, and sighed. Then he lowered his hand to his side, hoping Kingsley didn’t notice the way it trembled. “We’ll get new defenses. We’ll raise them against you.” He shook his head and studied the Minister for a moment, broodingly. “How did it come to open war between us?”  
  
“It began when you had the temerity to bond two Death Eaters to you.” Kingsley looked stubborn.  
  
“And if I hadn’t done it, Voldemort would have lived and the war wouldn’t have ended,” Harry said. He paused, then added wistfully, “I don’t know what you _want_ , Kingsley.”  
  
“Action out of you that makes sense,” Kingsley said. “A promise to remain obedient to those who know more than you in all matters, including politics. For you to put aside your preoccupation with Snape and Malfoy, and to agree to the dissolving of the bond.”  
  
“I’m doing the things that make sense to me.” Harry yawned. He hoped Kingsley would take it for a sign of boredom. He also braced his legs against the wall, but from the way Kingsley was staring raptly at his face, Harry hoped that could escape his observation. “I can’t promise to be obedient when my successes depend on thinking for myself. And of course the bond is important to me. I saved them. They’re under my protection. Don’t you have anyone that you think of that way?”  
  
Kingsley just looked stubborn again. Harry sighed and turned to limp from the room. He had done what he could. He would just have to release the Minister and his Aurors now and hope for the best.   
  
He stumbled on the stairs, and caught himself with one hand against the wall. While he stood there, breathing, the scar across his stomach began to ache with terrible, regular pulses. Harry gritted his teeth and waited some more. He wasn’t about to fall down these stairs and get a cracked head on top of everything else.  
  
 _Why is this happening now? You’d think the Healers would have managed to cure me of a simple Gut Chewing Curse in the time I’ve spent in hospital_.  
  
“Harry?” There was a soft gasp near his ear suddenly, and Harry jumped. When had Draco come up the stairs, and why hadn’t he heard him? “Severus!” Draco’s arm curved around Harry’s shoulders and hauled him to the side, supporting him with a strength that Harry found himself grateful for at the moment. “He’s faltering!”  
  
 _Faltering? I’m not_! The word made Harry sound as if he was weak, and he thought he’d devoted most of the morning to proving that he wasn’t. He drew himself up so that he could stand tall and strong and reassure Draco.  
  
His stomach pulled and ached, and then Severus’s voice said harshly to him, “Idiot boy. You have tried to do too much.” Harry felt the press of a smooth wand against his temple, heard the murmur of a spell, and then a curse from Severus.  
  
“Where would you be if I hadn’t tried to do it, I’d like to know?” Harry forced his eyes open and glared up at him. “Without me, you couldn’t have handled Kingsley as effectively, and then Skeeter wouldn’t know, and—”  
  
“What is the Minister next to you?” Severus said harshly, and then looked furious, either at himself for saying the words or Harry for making him say them, Harry didn’t know. He moved his wand again, and this time Harry felt both an easing of the pain and a darkening in his mind.  
  
 _He’s sending me to sleep!_  
  
“No!” Harry fought to sit up. “Just do something that will ease the pain and make me better for a little while. Give me a potion or something. But I have to stay awake right now! My friends weren’t in my room when the bond summoned me, but soon they’ll figure out where I must be, and Kingsley will probably say something that—”  
  
Severus’s hand clamped on Harry’s shoulder, and he glared into his eyes. “You are going to rest because you _need_ to,” he said. “If you do not take care of your physical health, we also suffer. Or is your memory so short?”  
  
Harry opened his mouth, realized that he didn’t have an argument to hand, and shut it again grumpily. Then Severus repeated the sleep spell, and Harry yawned and closed his eyes.  
  
He was still grumpy, though. He had to take care of himself, but they could have put him to sleep _later_ , after a few more things were settled. God knew what Severus and Draco would say to his friends when they arrived. If they—  
  
And then he remembered that if he trusted his bondmates, he should trust them not to permanently alienate his friends, either.  
  
He fell asleep while he was still thinking about that.  
  
*  
  
“You’re glaring at him as if you hate him,” Draco murmured into his ear.  
  
“I hate the sensations he provokes,” Severus snapped, without looking around. He could feel Harry’s mind wavering and sinking, part of it still fighting the sleep spell. He wondered if part of the boy’s resistance to the Imperius Curse was based on his instinctive tendency to battle anything that tried to take over his mind.  
  
 _Will he ever open the bonds and feel our emotions, then?_   
  
Severus scowled. He had other things to concentrate on, and with a jerk of his mind, he managed it. “Unless you are going to tell yourself that you did not feel what he just inflicted on us?” he added, turning to Draco. “That sensation as if part of you was shutting down, its heart beating more and more slowly towards extinction?”  
  
Draco shuddered and folded his arms. “I felt it, but I was more concerned with Harry,” he muttered.  
  
Severus studied him, but as far as he could tell, Draco was sincere and did not notice the contradiction in his words. He wondered if that would become a permanent part of the bond: Severus watching out for the physical safety of the others, acting as the stern taskmaster, and Draco mediating back and forth in concern for the both of them.  
  
 _But that would mean that only one role is left open to Harry: to act as human sacrifice for our good._  
  
Severus snarled silently. No, he would not allow that to happen. He intended to protect Harry as well, and to force him to rest if necessary. Harry would learn to care for himself and not simply fling his body between Severus and Draco and every curse that came along, or Severus would know why not.   
  
“He was beginning to die,” Severus said. “Some of the potions that ease the pain of the Gut Chewing Curse and ensure that it does not scar the victim are addictive, and he has now gone too long without them.”  
  
Draco looked stricken, and turned towards the front door as if he would run to St. Mungo’s immediately. Severus shook his head. “By sending him to sleep, I have eased his need for the potions for now. And I have several of them on hand, as well as several that will substitute. We can save him.”  
  
Draco sighed all the breath out of himself and sat down on the couch where they’d placed Harry, reaching out a hand to stroke his hair. “I can’t—it’s so strange, Severus, but I don’t feel as though I _could_ lose him.”  
  
“Of course you could, if the shutdown of physical processes went far enough,” Severus said briskly, turning towards the potions lab. “And the feeling in itself is not so strange, given that you would die if he dies.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”  
  
Severus paused and turned around again. He had learned not to argue when Draco took that tone: flat enough to ring like a trodden pavement, low and threatening. He met Draco’s eyes and said quietly, “Yes, I know.” He hesitated and took a quick glance at Harry, but his eyes were closed, and the bond between them buzzed with the swift flashes of emotion characteristic of dreams. He would not hear what Severus had to say next, and that was all to the good. “I feel much the same way.”  
  
Draco rose from the couch with a brilliant smile and came over to stand in front of him. Severus looked down at him with a slight blink, wondering what he wanted now. Sometimes, the lack of a bond that would permit him to read Draco’s emotions was troublesome.  
  
He did not expect the kiss that fastened on his mouth in the next moment, but he responded eagerly, grasping Draco’s shoulders and pouring passion into the tangle of their tongues. Draco moaned and stepped shakily back, fingering his lips as if he were uncertain they still belonged to him. Severus watched him smugly.  
  
“We have him,” Draco whispered. “We have each other. And someday soon, perhaps we will have him in the same way we have each other.”  
  
Severus would normally have scorned such an enunciation of simple truths, but at the moment, they sounded like ones he could endorse. He put his arms around Draco’s waist and held him possessively while they both looked towards the couch where Harry slept. Draco had a faint, gloating smile on his face that Severus was familiar with from days in Hogwarts when he had got away with a prank on another student. Severus did not know for certain what his own face looked like, but he suspected it was similar.  
  
Yes, they had Harry now. And he was not trying to win himself free, which meant they had him even more firmly, though he might not have accepted or thought about all the implications of that possession as yet.  
  
The moment passed when someone knocked at the door.  
  
Severus turned. The wards had been damaged slightly from the attack on the bond by the Aurors, but they still held strong, which meant that only those who did not intend to harm them could approach the house. Since Skeeter had so recently departed, Severus could think of only one other group of people who did not mean them harm.  
  
The Weasleys, or others of Harry’s friends.  
  
 _It is questionable whether they mean all of us good_ , he thought grimly, and caught Draco’s eye, jerking his head at the couch. Draco nodded and went to sit beside Harry, drawing his wand. In case one of the impulsive Weasleys did something rash, he would be ready to shield Harry from it. He had already begun, in fact, by creating a bubble of silence that would let Harry sleep on no matter what someone else said in the room.  
  
He nodded to Severus when he was ready. Severus went to open the door, his own wand held at his side.  
  
*  
  
The She-Weasel was the first through the door, of course, and she didn’t even bother to glance at Severus as she went by. She headed straight for Harry, and recoiled with a loud cry when Draco’s privacy bubble kept her away from him. She whipped around and glared at Draco. “What do you think you’re doing?”  
  
“Keeping him asleep,” Draco said, his gaze fixed on her and his wand hand twitching with longing to rise. He heard other voices, and assumed that the Weasel and Granger, at least, had accompanied Harry’s girlfriend. He would have to trust Severus to handle them.   
  
_Harry’s girlfriend_. The words left a foul taste even in his mind, like the slime trail of a slug.   
  
But he would have to put up with it until Harry made the decision to leave the She-Weasel and come to them of his own free will. Draco knew—though he didn’t know if Severus had accepted it yet—that any relationship they formed had no chance of lasting until that happened. Harry would never forgive them if they took advantage of the bond to force him away from his friends.  
  
“Why would you want to do that?” Weasley’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “Unless you’ve exhausted him making him defend you.”  
  
That was too close to the truth to make Draco rest entirely content. He rose to his feet, emphasizing the height he had on Weasley, and moved a step closer, lowering his voice to a hiss. He knew Harry couldn’t hear them anyway, thanks to the bubble, but he wanted to show that _he_ had some concern for the quiet Harry needed. “He started to collapse thanks to the _Minister_ , who tried to destroy the bond. Harry’s phoenixes summoned him from hospital to defend us. And after that there was other business to be handled with the Minister, which he insisted on doing himself. He nearly died a few days ago. Is it any wonder that he needs rest?”  
  
Weasley stared at him in silence for a few minutes. Then she said in a low, passionate voice, “I hate this bond.”  
  
Draco blinked. _Of course I should have expected her to hate it, but I didn’t expect to be the one she confesses that hatred to. Does Harry know about this_?  
  
“It endangers his life,” Weasley went on, and fell back a step to look at Harry, as if seeing his face from a different angle would somehow make a difference in the truth of her words. “It forces him to act unnaturally. It disrupts his training and gets him kicked out of the Auror program.” She turned around and stared at Draco. “It must hamper you, too. Why don’t you want to be free of it?”  
  
Draco curled his lip. He didn’t intend to discuss the more personal reasons that he and Severus wanted to keep the bond with her. “Because,” he said sharply, “undoing the bond means that everything goes back to the way it was before Harry’s accidental magic brought us together—”  
  
“Good,” Weasley said.  
  
“Which would mean,” Draco said, raising his voice slightly, “that the Dark Lord would still be alive and that scar would be back in place on your boyfriend’s forehead. Do you _really_ want that to happen?”  
  
Weasley folded her arms around her as if she were cold, but kept her attention firmly on Draco. She seemed to have forgotten Harry was lying there, Draco thought. _How could she?_   
  
“You say ‘your boyfriend’ as if the words hurt you,” Weasley whispered. “Do you really resent my relationship with him that much?”  
  
Draco paused. The one thing he had not anticipated was being understood in that way. He’d thought he’d concealed his resentment well enough.   
  
But then he remembered that Weasley had caught him trying to kiss Harry, and reckoned that he should have anticipated this.  
  
He didn’t _like_ the fact, though, and that made him snappish. “Of course I resent it,” he muttered. “Why wouldn’t I? He spends time with you just to please you, and then you’re _still_ not pleased. And you don’t seem to care about his physical health.” Weasley opened her mouth, looking outraged, but Draco pushed on. He wanted to say this, and she was going to let him say it, or else. “You don’t care about anything except yourself, and the ending of the bond. Harry could have chosen _anyone_ else. There are people who would _understand_ that bonds come first, no matter what. Instead, he chose a carrot-haired shrew who whines at him about doing what she wants.”  
  
Weasley’s cheeks were a brilliant and unattractive red. “I’m sorry that you’ve never had a normal human relationship,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “and so you can’t understand that people do what other people want them to because it makes _them_ happy, too.”  
  
Draco lifted his wand until it was pointing at her mouth. “I love my parents,” he whispered. “I’ve had normal human relationships. You take that back.”  
  
“Why should I?” Weasley looked down her nose at him, which should have been impossible, as short as she was. “You’re not acting like it. You just want Harry to do whatever you think is best for him, like your little toy. You want him to want you. Well, you know what? He won’t.” Weasley’s small and pig-like eyes were alight with vicious pleasure. “I asked him if he found men attractive. He said that I was the only one he was attracted to. He’s straight. What do you think of that?”  
  
Draco cast without thinking. It was nothing more than the Bat-Bogey Hex that Weasley had used so often herself, but Weasley shrieked as if she were dying, and her brother and Granger, who were standing near the door talking to Severus still, abruptly stampeded around him and into the middle of the room.  
  
“What did he do to you?” The Weasel gave Draco a look of intense dislike as he caught his sister in his arms. Draco sneered at him. He’d thought him intelligent earlier that day. _How did I ever make that mistake?_   
  
“The Bat-Bogey Hex,” Granger said, and reversed the spell with a quick flourish of her wand. Then she turned and glared at Draco. Draco stared back and moved closer to Harry. _They don’t have the right to take him away from us. They_ don’t.  
  
“I heard what she said, and what you said,” Granger told him in a quiet voice. “You ought to consider, not what she says or what we think of it, but what Harry’s going to think of your actions.” Then she turned and shepherded the Weasleys out of the room, while they shrilly complained.   
  
Draco, trembling, lowered his wand. He couldn’t look sideways at Severus, knowing that he would see disapproval there.  
  
Severus stepped up beside him, put a hand on his shoulder, and murmured into his ear, “Your intentions were honorable, your actions misguided. We _must_ maintain peace with Harry’s friends if he is ever to choose us of his own free will.”  
  
Draco swallowed. “I know.” That had been the thing he thought he understood so much better than Severus. He turned and stared up at his lover. “But I got so angry. You heard what she said, and what she implied—”  
  
“What she implied should not matter.” Severus interrupted him with the same cold precision he had used when Draco made a simple mistake in Potions. “She is a young woman dealing with more of her own internal conflicts than you know. Those conflicts are likely to tear her apart from Harry without any extra effort on our part. But if we attack her, then Harry will cling to her all the more tightly because of some misguided notion of owed loyalty.” He turned away before Draco could open his mouth to answer. “Now. Let us get Harry to bed, and then ensure that the Minister understands the situation fully before we release him.”  
  
Draco trailed disconsolately after Severus, watching the way Severus’s hand smoothed gently through Harry’s wild dark hair, and wondered why his feelings of being wise and powerful and kindly never seemed to last long.  
  
*  
  
Harry woke in a much nicer manner than he had at the hospital, where he had the consequences of potions to weigh him down. Of course, he must have taken potions here, too; Severus wouldn’t have let him go long without stuffing him full of them. But his throat didn’t hurt and his belly didn’t hurt and he felt pleasantly warm rather than stupefied, so he lay still for a few minutes with his eyes closed.  
  
Then the memory of Kingsley and Skeeter came back to him, along with the idea that his friends had almost certainly visited the house while he was asleep.  
  
 _What happened_? Harry felt a surge of the same fear he’d felt when he lay in the Hogwarts hospital wing after his first battle with Voldemort and wondered if Quirrell had died. He pushed himself up on his pillow with his elbows and looked frantically around.   
  
“Hush, Harry,” Draco’s amused voice said from not far away. “I don’t think that Severus will appreciate it much if you manage to undo his work.” His hand landed on Harry’s head, and his fingers trailed familiarly over the shell of his ear. “You’re fine. Your friends have been here, seen that you were fine, and gone away. Severus and I released the Minister and the Aurors a short time ago.” He hesitated, then added, “Severus tried to extract an Unbreakable Vow from Shacklebolt about leaving us alone in the future, but he refused to give it. So Severus cast a spell that will make sure that he’ll at least think about us less and gain some courage for facing Huxley and others who try to influence him.”  
  
“There are spells like that?” Harry murmured. His immediate questions answered, he could lean into Draco’s touch and—  
  
 _No. No, you can’t. You promised Ginny that you wouldn’t encourage his caresses, no matter what the temptation._  
  
“I could have used a spell like that,” he continued, leaning back from Draco’s touch so that he was sitting upright with the help of the pillows. “When I was hunting Voldemort and the Horcruxes, I mean. There were times I thought I wouldn’t be able to go on.”  
  
Draco sighed, as if he had noticed Harry’s movement and resented it, then settled on the bed in front of him. “There’s something else I need to tell you,” he muttered. “Something I did while you were unconscious that you probably won’t like.”  
  
“Oh?” Harry kept his voice as neutral as possible while he turned to face Draco. Draco was staring at his hands, which twined restlessly together. “Don’t tell me. You hexed Ginny.”  
  
Draco gave a quick jerk of his shoulders, as though Harry had struck him, then bowed his head and sat still. Even his hands had stopped twisting.  
  
“You _did_?” Harry hissed under his breath and leaned further away, staring hard at Draco. The phoenixes on his arms weren’t burning, but they should have been, to represent how angry he was. Draco flinched again, though, and Harry remembered that he could feel Harry’s emotions through the bond. He took a steadying breath. He still didn’t want to hurt his bondmates, no matter how upset he was. “Why?” The one word was all he could trust his voice to utter rationally right now.  
  
“We got in a row,” Draco said to his fingernails. “We both implied stupid things. She said I didn’t know how to love, and I said that she didn’t really care about you, just about herself.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and sat there for a moment. His mind was a mixture of conflicting emotions. He felt sorry for Ginny, he felt sorry for Draco, and he wondered how this would make his life harder when dealing with both of them. Because of course Ginny and Draco would feel that the other person was at fault, and if Harry sided too much with one, then he would irritate the other. But he couldn’t sit in the middle and be neutral; that would demand too much of him in a different way.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Draco said the words so softly that Harry knew he could ignore them if he wanted. But he looked up instead, and though Draco flushed when Harry met his eyes, he didn’t look as if he were about to back down.  
  
“Sorry for what?” Harry asked carefully, because there were things Draco could apologize for that didn’t necessarily involve the row with Ginny.  
  
Draco sat there scowling at the wall, as if he expected it to produce his apology for him. But in the end, he shook his head slightly, turned back to Harry, and said, “Sorry for antagonizing her. I knew she was worried. But I was worried, too, and I got irritated when she tried to reach you instead of letting you sleep. Besides, the only hex I used on her was that Bat-Bogey Hex she was so fond of using on other people.”  
  
Harry almost smiled despite himself at the way self-serving justifications and truth mingled in Draco’s words. He reached out, found his hand, and squeezed it. “You still shouldn’t have done it.”  
  
Draco tossed his head up, his patience apparently exhausted, a brilliant flush streaking his cheeks. “Because she’s your _girlfriend_.” There was enough bitterness behind that word to make Harry flinch. He had thought that Draco had a slightly self-mocking crush on him. This sounded like something deeper and worse. “I know. I know that you want her, and that you’re in love with her, and—”  
  
“All that’s true,” Harry said quietly, cutting Draco off. He wasn’t sure about being in love with Ginny, truth be told, but this was one truth that _didn’t_ need to be told to Draco or Severus, any more than Harry was about to ask how much they loved each other. “But mostly, I’m thinking that your hexing someone could make the newspapers, and in a way that we don’t want. Skeeter seems interested in reporting on the Minister’s misdeeds for now, but she could turn on us as quickly.”  
  
Draco bit his lip, and his cheeks flared out as if he were sucking in some air and holding it in his mouth. Harry sat still, staring at him. He wouldn’t be master to a pair of slaves, but he was going to set some boundaries for his bondmates in interacting with his friends.  
  
Finally, Draco ducked his head and muttered something ungracious about how he _reckoned_ Harry was right. Then he stood up and left the room abruptly, shutting the door behind him with a sharp squeak.  
  
Harry sighed and lay back on the bed, tracing one finger along the edge of the pillow. No, nothing he could do would make everyone completely happy.  
  
 _But does that matter_? he suddenly wondered, thinking of the compromise he had offered Kingsley and how Kingsley had refused it. Harry had decided that he didn’t care what Kingsley wanted, he wouldn’t do it. _Maybe it’s the same principle. If I can’t give Draco and Ginny and Severus and Ron and Hermione and the whole of the wizarding world everything they want, that doesn’t mean I can’t still be a good friend or a good bondmate._  
  
That made him feel a little better, and he was just starting to smile when the door opened and Severus stalked in. Harry took in the frown on his face and pushed at the pillow so that he could sit up better. Severus was probably here to scold Harry for upsetting Draco, just as Harry had scolded Draco for upsetting Ginny.  
  
 _Merlin, this is so complicated_ , Harry thought wearily before he turned to face what he was sure would be a storm of sarcasm.  
  
*  
  
Severus paused when he felt the bond tighten and thrum, stone seeming to close in on the narrow current of emotions flowing through it. Harry had been darting freely between feelings until then, like a butterfly visiting many different flowers, and it was only the sight of Severus that had changed things.  
  
 _If Draco has not apologized as I instructed him to, I will flay him_.  
  
Severus slowly shut the door behind him and crossed over to sit on the chair Draco had been keeping watch on for the past few hours. He would begin with neutral information, then. For all that he did not think Harry could have guessed the subject he wanted to talk about, talking about it while Harry was in this mood would probably not work well.  
  
“I have strengthened the wards around the house,” he said. “They are linked to our blood and bone. Someone could fool them with Polyjuice, but no other way. I think it best we agree on a system of code words that only we know, to further fool the Polyjuice.”  
  
Harry nodded. The bond opened slightly. “I thought of that, too.” He looked briefly embarrassed. “I should have suggested it the moment Pepperfield attacked Draco. Even if Kingsley hadn’t turned against me, that was a sign that the public wasn’t willing to accept the pardons.”  
  
“We survived,” said Severus. “From this moment on, we shall have to shelter under wards, but that was no different from the lives that we lived in Hogwarts. Or in the summer, for that matter,” he added, thinking of the powerful defenses that guarded Malfoy Manor and his own house at Spinner’s End. “There is another solution that I thought I would propose to you. We may leave England.”  
  
Harry’s face immediately took on the mulish look that Severus remembered so well from the days when James was alive, a moment before the bond clashed with a shock like cliffs reverberating. “No,” he said. “I won’t let them chase us away from our home. All of us have as great a right to live here as they do. Besides, there’s no guarantee that the really determined ones wouldn’t come after us in Australia, or France, or anywhere else. And the Weasleys and other people I cared about wouldn’t leave Britain.”  
  
Severus inclined his head. He had thought that would be the answer, but he would not have rested easy if he had not made the suggestion. “What has Draco done to irritate you?”  
  
Harry looked startled for the merest second, then grimaced ruefully. “I forgot you could feel that.”  
  
 _You will need to remember_ , Severus thought. He wondered if the reason Harry had managed to accept the bond so well was that he was ignoring parts of it. He had accepted that Severus and Draco would need his emotions, but he had not thought about the level of knowledge of Harry himself that granted them.  
  
“He admitted the truth about the row with Ginny,” Harry said. “And he did apologize. But I told him that I didn’t like him hexing her, and he didn’t take it too well.”  
  
“You did the right thing,” Severus said, and understood a little more as Harry stared at him like a butterfly being pinned. _Yes, he feared that I would scold him in turn_. “Draco is occasionally less mature than he has the capacity to be. If that is not pointed out, then he will simply sink back into childishness.”  
  
Harry regarded him with caution that made the bond feel edged around with razor blades. “I thought you would be angry at me for scolding him,” he said. “Shouldn’t that be _your_ role?”  
  
“We will trade roles,” Severus said, “or this bond is only an iron harness, enforcing shallow versions of ourselves upon us. You may tell Draco if he is doing something that is wrong by your lights.”  
  
Harry spent a few more moments staring at Severus, then nodded. “Thanks for telling me that,” he said.  
  
Severus leaned forwards. It was as good an opening as he would ever have for speaking of the subject he had come to question Harry on. “At the moment, my role is as your healer,” he said. “I have administered all the potions I think wise. There is something else that I would diagnose.”  
  
Harry looked down at his belly. “Did I manage to tear something else open? That would be just like me.”  
  
Severus followed his gaze, and saw, as Harry’s robes shifted, a trail of dark hair disappearing towards his groin. At that moment, he was glad that Harry had not opened the bond the other way, and so he was ignorant of the reason Severus’s eyes turned aside and his voice roughened. “No. But I am thinking of the way that you healed Draco and me before you attempted to do anything about your pain when the Gut Chewing Curse hit you.”  
  
“Of course I did,” Harry said, sounding baffled. “The pain knocked you down. You didn’t have time or the strength to do anything. I did.”  
  
Severus refrained from rolling his eyes by reciting the ingredients of the Draught of Peace in his head. _It is no wonder that he has managed to rationalize and ignore his own self-destructive impulses for so long._   
  
“You almost seemed not to notice that you were hurt,” he pursued. “The pain surprised you. You have also ignored the pain when it began to trouble you during your healing. Do you realize how close you came to death?”  
  
“Yes, yes, I almost died,” Harry said in an overly patient voice, while the bond contracted like a muscle. “But I’ve done that a lot. Really, you have no need to be so worried. If anything, I should be the one who’s worried about you.”  
  
Severus put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and stared into his face. “I told you that the bond permits us to switch and share roles. In this case, Draco and I are your protectors as well. It concerns me that you will play down your own pain.”  
  
Harry pulled away from him, his nostrils and eyes both wide. “I don’t—you don’t need to worry about me. I won’t forget my own pain so much that you’ll die. That’s all that you should be concerned about.”  
  
“Ah,” Severus said in a deep, soft voice. “Is it? I think not. We may also be concerned about you as a person.” He laid the back of his hand against Harry’s cheek and watched the result. His movement was calculated, unlike the way Draco had leaned forwards and tried to steal a kiss too soon.   
  
Harry swallowed. Severus waited patiently until he saw the spark of awareness grow in those green eyes, then withdrew his hand.   
  
“Being bonded to anyone else would be the same,” Harry said, in a queer, choked voice. “Except someone else probably would have accepted reality sooner and not almost killed you.”  
  
“We want to be bonded to _you_ ,” Severus said patiently. “And we will remain by your side for the rest of our mutual, united lives. If you do not yet feel ready to face the consequences of ignoring your own pain, then we will help you to do so, at some later date. But you should know that we will not be parasites, simply drawing your emotions from you and offering nothing in return. You have us as well as our having you, Harry.”  
  
He turned and left while Harry still gaped. Once he was in the corridor, he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. His muscles shook with fine tremors. A cold sweat covered his forehead and dripped into his eyes.  
  
He had not realized the baring of his emotions would be so difficult.  
  
But the ordeal was over for the moment, and he could go to conciliate Draco.  
  
*  
  
“Ginny!” Harry didn’t have to feign the gladness in his voice. He’d been hoping to see her before this, though he knew she might not want to return to a house where she’d been insulted and hexed. He held out his hand.   
  
Ginny walked across the bedroom to clasp it, but her smile was strained, and she looked as though she’d been trying to prepare herself for jumping over a cliff. She dropped his hand and said in a clear voice that shook only a little, “Harry, I can’t do this any more.”  
  
Harry swallowed. “What?” he asked faintly, but he thought he knew.  
  
“I can’t share you with them any more,” Ginny whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m probably a bad girlfriend. But I need someone who puts _me_ first, Harry. I have—I still have nightmares from the war, you know?”  
  
“I didn’t know,” Harry said helplessly. He felt as though a pillar supporting his world had just been knocked away, and then someone had pointed out that he’d been the one responsible for weakening the pillar in the first place.  
  
Ginny gave him a single bitter look. “No, why would you? You never _asked_.”  
  
Harry said nothing, because there was nothing to say. Ginny began to pace back and forth, her head bowed and her fingers digging into her arms.  
  
“I tried to get used to it,” she said. “And I couldn’t, because I keep looking at Snape and seeing the Headmaster I hated last year. I keep looking at Malfoy and seeing the boy who taunted my whole family and hates us for existing. I keep waiting for you to ask me about my experiences during the war. I know that’s not fair. I know I should have told you. But I didn’t _want_ to. I wanted someone who cared enough to ask.” She turned around and stared at Harry with wide eyes in which shadows moved like reflections in a dim mirror. “I’m not—strong enough to be the person you need, Harry, and you’re not strong enough to be the person I need. Or maybe I need to heal by myself for a while before I try to be with anyone. But the point is that it’s not going to work between us. I feel sick when I think of you living with Malfoy and Snape, never mind touching them.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to deny that last part, and then remembered the way he’d crouched in the front garden with Draco and Severus, his arms around their shoulders. Not to mention that he’d realized, from Draco’s near-kiss and Severus’s touch yesterday, that both of them wanted him.  
  
He still had no idea _why_ they wanted him, but the fact remained. And he couldn’t promise himself that he would always resist temptation, when the bond already made them closer to him than he ever could be to Ginny.  
  
He realized Ginny had stopped speaking and stood facing him, her fingers making red streaks on her skin with how hard they were pressing down, her eyes terrified. She was waiting for him to say something.  
  
Harry closed his eyes and made a difficult decision. He still wanted Ginny, but he couldn’t say he loved her—not the way she deserved to be loved. And just because Draco and Severus wanted him didn’t mean that their interest would last or that he would ever want them back.  
  
But there were things more important than whether he had someone in his bed.  
  
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Ginny stepped towards him, her face still pale, and clasped his hands for a moment. “Thank you,” she said. “I know that was hard, but it’s really the best thing for both of us.” She kissed his cheek, and then turned and ran from the room as if she feared what would happen if she lingered.  
  
Harry lay back with his hands over his face for a moment. Then he turned so that he could bury his head in the pillow.  
  
A tentative knock on the door made him grab his wand hastily and weave a ward on the threshold so that no one could come in. He didn’t want comfort right now. There were things he had to handle himself, the way he should have handled the burden of the bond instead of trying to make Ginny bear it.  
  
“Harry?” Draco tried the handle. “Let us in. You’re feeling bad.”  
  
“Yes,” Harry said, his voice muffled by the pillow, “but I want to be alone.”  
  
Silence. Draco had evidently respected his wishes and gone away.  
  
Harry buried his face further and wished that he knew what to wish for. Not for Ginny back, when that would be bad for her and probably result in a far more bitter breakup someday. Not for the bond never to have happened, since in different ways he valued Draco and Severus and was glad that they were in his life.  
  
But for—something.  
  
 _For the pain to end and something in my life to go right would be a good start._


	11. Chapter 11

  
“It isn’t going to be easy, you know.”  
  
Harry gave Hermione a faint smile, not wanting to tell her how relieved he was that she had shown up and seemed to be on his side despite his breakup with Ginny. He thought she might be offended by that. He sat up against the pillows—after two days in the bed, he could do that all by himself, though he was still disgusted at how long he was taking to heal from a simple wound—and leaned across so that he could see the paper Hermione was straightening. “I know. Has Skeeter published an article defaming me yet?”  
  
Hermione blinked at him for a minute. Maybe she hadn’t anticipated that Harry would actually be that intelligent about Skeeter. Then she said, “Not her, but others. There are some saying that this all a Death Eater plot, and that the Minister hasn’t actually done anything to you that he needs to apologize for.”  
  
Harry sighed. “Of course they would say that. What about Huxley? Are they defending her?”  
  
“They’ve been silent about her.” Hermione nibbled her lip. “I’m worried, though, Harry. There are many people who think that Kingsley’s done a good job for his first months in office, especially because he used to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix and they like that connection. The storm of resentment might build against you to the point where it wouldn’t be safe for you to go out in public.”  
  
“The way it isn’t safe for Draco and Severus right now?” Harry asked dryly.  
  
Hermione flushed. “I didn’t,” she said, and then stopped. Her fingers ran up and down the seam of the blanket. Harry folded his arms and waited for her to continue.   
  
“You have to remember why so many people feel that way,” Hermione whispered. “You have to remember what the Death Eaters did during the war.”  
  
“And you have to remember what Severus did,” Harry retorted instantly. “We wouldn’t have found the Sword of Gryffindor without him, and then we wouldn’t have been able to destroy the locket, and then—”  
  
“I _know_ , Harry.” Hermione cast him a look of pure misery. “But _you_ know that we can’t tell the truth about that. Then people would probably get interested in the idea of Horcruxes. At least, the idiots who want to resurrect Voldemort would.” She brought her hands down in her lap with a gesture of finality. “We can’t show as much of his heroism as we’d like, and the kind we can talk about isn’t the kind that people understand. The vast majority of them will never see why it’s heroic to kill someone because he asked you to and then govern in his place for a year, all the time trying to keep students from being too badly hurt.”  
  
“I know they don’t understand.” Harry lowered his voice so that Hermione would realize he didn’t blame her. She wasn’t against Draco and Severus, but she was frustrated that so many people were. “I’ll fight an uphill battle until they do, that’s all.”  
  
Hermione cast him a haunted look. “I don’t know if their minds will ever change, Harry.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Then I’ll fight until they do,” he repeated, and charged on before Hermione could give him another pessimistic speech. “I want to start a campaign to shift public attention to my side. What do you think the most effective way to do that would be?”  
  
Hermione blinked, pursed her lips, and then said, “Well, you would need more allies besides Brynhildr Swanfair and Rita Skeeter. Neither of them is the kind of person that the normal wizarding public would consider _good_. The Weasleys aren’t enough, either. They’ve been associated with you for too long, and the novelty has worn off.” Harry concealed a chuckle. Hermione, as much as she loved Ron and the rest of his family, could take as detached a tone as Severus when talking about them, if she wanted. “I think I would seek out other Muggleborn heroes—ones other than Huxley—and tell them that you want to make sure the Ministry doesn’t change into what they fought. They’ll have an interest in that. And play up your connection with Andromeda Tonks and Teddy. Her husband died in the war, and Remus and Tonks died in the Battle of Hogwarts.” Hermione rubbed at her eyes for a moment, and Harry cleared his throat and glanced away. “That’ll grab some attention.”  
  
“I haven’t seen Teddy in four weeks,” Harry mused. “I did send him a Christmas present, but I’d like to visit him again.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure that I can use him or Andromeda as political pawns, though.”  
  
“They’ll be used that way anyway,” Hermione told him. “Either the newspapers will think it’s sweet that you’re visiting him, your little orphaned godson, or they’ll suggest that you want him for some nefarious purpose now that you’re bonded to two Death Eaters. You might as well control the publicity and shelter Teddy and Andromeda as much as you can.”  
  
“You’re awfully good at this,” Harry murmured, peering at her from beneath his fringe.  
  
“I hate being good at it,” said Hermione with unexpected ferocity, her eyes flashing. “But someone has to be. And people who are stupid and believe stupid things about you deserve to have us deciding what they see and hear.” She rose to her feet and gathered up the papers she’d brought with her. “Ask Snape and Malfoy, too. They might have opinions about political contacts I’ve never heard of.”  
  
Harry reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Hermione. I…when do you think Ron will come back?”  
  
“Not for a little while.” Hermione squeezed his hand back and gave him a keen, sympathetic glance. “He’s taken your breaking up with Ginny pretty hard. I think he thinks that he’ll lose you to Snape and Malfoy now that you don’t have a strong connection to the Weasleys.”  
  
“My connection to the Weasleys will always be strong as long as he’s my best friend and my brother.” Harry leaned back on the pillows and frowned at her. “Severus and Draco can’t take those roles away from him.”  
  
Hermione’s face relaxed into a smile. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll tell him that you said that, in those exact words. I think that’s what he needed to hear: just that his best friend was still his best friend and would always be with him.” She pecked him on the cheek and slipped out of the room.   
  
Harry folded his arms behind his head and contemplated the ceiling. Of course the Weasleys wouldn’t like it that he’d broken up with Ginny, or she’d broken up with him. (Fairness to himself compelled him to remember that it had really happened that way around). He should have thought—  
  
The door to his room banged open. Harry dived for his wand before he realized it was Severus and Draco, and they held large boxes covered in bright paper and wore determined expressions. He blinked. “Er. Are you all right?”  
  
“We’re doing this right _now_ ,” Draco announced, and set down his box at the foot of the bed. “We bought you Christmas presents ages ago, and what with your almost getting killed and tying up the Minister and then falling down the stairs—”  
  
“I didn’t fall down the stairs,” Harry started to protest. Honestly, how in the world was he supposed to convince them he was healing if they made up lies that they then believed? “I only wavered and _almost_ fell down them.”  
  
Draco glared at him. “And that’s so much better, of course,” he said. “Well. We wanted to give you these presents before you could do something else that would make it impossible to give them to you.”  
  
Harry bit his tongue so that he wouldn’t say that all those things that prevented him from receiving the gifts hadn’t been his fault. They would probably get into a tedious argument, and he didn’t want that.  
  
Besides, he had to admit to a tiny bit of private happiness that they’d bought him gifts. Ever since Hagrid and Hedwig, gifts were no longer a _complete_ novelty, but part of him would apparently be eleven and just away from the Dursleys forever.  
  
“Your gifts were well-chosen,” Severus said in a soft voice that claimed Harry’s attention at once. He placed his large box down in the middle of the bed, though Harry could have sat up in a chair if he wanted to. Severus had that ridiculous notion that he shouldn’t “strain” himself too far, of course. “We hope that we have chosen ours equally well.”  
  
“I’m sure you did,” Harry said, and smiled at him before picking up the box and tearing into the paper. Severus winced. Harry didn’t care. He liked the sound of tearing paper, and he wanted to get the box open rather than sit around admiring the wrapping like Aunt Petunia.  
  
Inside was a heavy book. Harry turned it over, expecting to see a title on the spine that would have something to do with Potions, but to his surprise, there was no title at all. He opened the book, noting absently that the pages were thick, velvety paper and easy to turn, and looked for a table of contents or a title on the inside or _something_ that would tell him what the book was.  
  
Almost at once, he recognized some of the potions that had been in the Half-Blood Prince’s potions book. This time, though, the notations that had been added to that book in Severus’s handwriting were incorporated into the recipes themselves. Harry flicked through the pages and recognized the spells that he’d used during that year, too, including some that he never got to try.  
  
Harry raised his eyes and looked at Severus. He didn’t quite understand. There were several things the book could mean. Was Severus mocking him?  
  
“You can use this knowledge to defend yourself, now,” Severus told him. His hands tightened around each other for a moment, creating a joined constellation of stains. He must have been brewing some particularly difficult potion that morning, Harry thought absently, since it had splashed him so thoroughly. “I have included everything I thought useful from that first book, as well as knowledge that I only learned afterwards.”  
  
Harry let his eyes flicker to Draco. _Has he forgotten that I used one of the spells to hurt the man who’s his lover, now?_  
  
When he looked back to Severus, he found a solemn gaze waiting for him, so open that Severus might have been inviting Legilimency—so deep that it made Harry uneasy. But from the way Severus made a slow gesture at the book and nodded, Harry thought he understood the silent message.  
  
 _It’s different because he trusts me now. He thinks that I’ll treat the knowledge with respect, the way I wouldn’t have before._  
  
Harry had to look down at the book and stroke the pages as if admiring them, because his throat was tight and his eyes would be wet in a moment, and that was not on. Then he glanced at Draco, who was holding his box out importantly. This box was smaller than Severus’s, and Harry opened it with a more intense feeling of caution. If Severus had got him a copy of the Half-Blood Prince’s book, he had no idea what Draco would have got him, except that it would be double-edged.   
  
It was a sparkling silver potion that looked like brook water in sunlight. Harry wrinkled his forehead and turned the vial in several different directions, but didn’t see a name on it. He turned to Draco. “All right, I give up. What is it?”  
  
“By the time I’m done tutoring you in Potions, you’ll be able to name a potion like that without a pause,” Draco murmured critically, but he put on a bright smile at a warning glance from Severus. “It’s called the Ordinary Potion. It only works on people who have some degree of notoriety, like the Minister—or you. When you drink a dose of it, then you can walk around in plain sight and people will only pay as much attention to you as they do to someone who’s not famous.”  
  
Harry blinked and stroked the vial with one finger, carefully not looking at Draco. They would think his emotion stupid and a weakness, probably, but it meant a lot to him that Draco was willing to let Harry try to make himself ordinary instead of important. After all, that meant that Draco didn’t care about his partners being politically powerful and outstanding all the time; he was willing to accept a normal Harry.  
  
And though he couldn’t possibly have known about it, it felt as though he’d guessed at and granted a private wish of Harry’s: to be “just Harry.”  
  
“Thank you,” he said, when he could find his voice. “That—means a lot to me.” And then his voice cracked and he sounded stupid, so he coughed and hurried past the moment before either of them could realize something was wrong. “Hermione suggested making friends with the Muggleborn heroes other than Huxley, and bringing Andromeda and Teddy into the spotlight, if they would agree to come. But she also said I should ask you if you knew any political connections she was overlooking. Well?” He lay back on the pillows and looked from one to the other of them, his hands still resting on the book and the potions vial, because he couldn’t bear to let them go.  
  
Draco and Severus exchanged a long glance in which they seemed to say thirty things at once. Harry scowled, wondering if he could do that, or if it was a skill reserved for former Slytherins alone. _I wish I knew what they were thinking more often._  
  
There was a simple solution to that, of course. He could open the bonds the other way, so that he could feel their emotions as well as them feeling his.  
  
But Harry refused the notion the moment it occurred to him. He still didn’t want to spy on them just because they had to spy on him to live. And they’d been fine about not using the knowledge gained from his emotions against him—unless he wanted to count Severus’s weird attempt to make him admit his pain, which Harry knew was _there_ , but which wasn’t _important_ —but Harry couldn’t be sure he would be the same way. He didn’t trust himself.  
  
So, all in all, it would be better for him to leave the bonds closed, and just muddle along the way ordinary humans without phoenix marks had to do. Besides, he had his Christmas presents now. That showed they cared about him. He placed his hands on the presents again, and waited for them to emerge from their silent communion.  
  
*  
  
Draco gave a small nod. Severus took the invitation for what it was and cleared his throat as the first to speak.  
  
“There may be those whose gratitude we can draw upon among my former students,” he began carefully. For all he knew, though Harry had adopted certain…softer feelings towards two particular former Slytherins, he would not wish to associate with others. “Your defeat of the Dark Lord ended a year of suffering for most of them, when they were forced to see the name of Slytherin House abused again and again as justification for torture and hatred. I believe their families would help us.”  
  
Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. Severus wondered if he realized that he was practically cuddling the book and the potion vial. “Are you sure they wouldn’t blame me for not doing something to rescue them earlier?”  
  
Severus snorted. “Slytherins are not so unreasonable.”  
  
Harry’s other eyebrow joined the one currently crowding his fringe.  
  
“In this, they truly are not,” Severus insisted. He had observed Draco’s yearmates such as Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode during the occupation of the school that they had been told was such a “triumph” for them, as members of Slytherin House, pure-bloods, and future members of the Dark Lord’s army, and he had seen how their faces and their souls changed. “They have seen the consequences of irrationality and passionate devotion to a single cause up close.”  
  
“I still don’t know if they’d take it well if I approached them.” Harry’s face had a shadow on it, and the bond resonated and trembled with more shadows, reminding Severus of leaves in too-bright sunlight. “Maybe you should begin the overtures.”  
  
“Of course,” Draco said dryly. Harry shot him a look that had both irritation and affection in it. Severus watched as Draco absorbed those emotions like a flower the sun and reflected parts of them back at Harry. “We weren’t about to leave such a precarious thing up to _you_. Who do you think we are?”  
  
“Not brain-damaged by worship of me?” Harry said, in a passable imitation of Draco’s voice.  
  
Draco tapped Harry’s elbow sharply, which made Harry grin. Severus swallowed and remind himself that he had no cause for jealousy. Not only were Harry and Draco close to the same age, there were reasons for antagonism between Severus and Harry that Draco had no reason to share.  
  
 _And I truly do not think they will leave me out when they are ready to be together_. It was there in the way Harry held his gift as tenderly as he held Draco’s, and in the bright-eyed glance Draco cast Severus a moment later, before he leaned forwards.  
  
“We should start with the Bulstrodes,” he said confidentially to Severus. “They have Muggle blood, and they’ll have that reason to be grateful for the ending of the war, which the others won’t. Besides, I’ve heard some rumors that they mean to leave the country because of anti-Slytherin harassment. If we could provide a safe haven for them, they would have every reason to give us strong support.”  
  
Severus nodded. “Do not stress the gratitude too much,” he cautioned Draco. “You know Millicent’s pride, and her father is even worse.”  
  
Draco snorted. “Trust me to know the best ways of dealing with Millicent after seven years of sharing a common room with her,” he said. “I can at least ensure she comes around, and then I think the rest of her family will follow. They’ll do almost anything to oblige her, their darling only girl.” He rolled his eyes.  
  
Severus snorted in return. “I would also remove that tone from your voice before you speak with her.”  
  
“What do you think I am, a Gryff—a Hufflepuff?” Draco retorted in an unusually clumsy save before he rose to his feet and gestured vaguely at the bedroom door. “I’ll start writing that letter now.” And he hurried out before Severus could advise him to apologize.  
  
When he turned to Harry, however, he saw that Harry didn’t look angry about the insult to his House. Instead, he was gazing wistfully after Draco. In his eyes was a yearning that Severus had seen before when some of his Slytherins felt shut out from the social life of the rest of the school.  
  
He spoke out of instinct, and wondered if that was best when he saw the wary way Harry’s eyes shifted to him.  
  
“You need not feel separated from us. It is true that Draco and I share common experiences, but we _would_ welcome your sharing of them.” He pitched his voice as low and soothingly as he could, so that Harry would not want to back away for lack of sympathy.  
  
“I know,” Harry said, and hurried past the words and into another subject before Severus could pin him down. He wondered if that was yet another of the strategies Harry had evolved for ignoring his own pain. “Do you think it’s wise to get in contact with Brynhildr Swanfair? Draco sounded so uncertain that I didn’t want to ask in front of him.”  
  
Severus felt an entirely inappropriate swell of pride within him. Yes, there were things that he and Harry alone would share, although the same was true for Harry and Draco and for Draco and Severus. “She is powerful,” he said, “and I think it wise to extract some guarantees for her behavior before she visits us. But if we do not accept her help, we risk offending her.”  
  
“And that would be bad,” Harry summarized, “even though accepting it might also be bad.” He sighed. “I don’t understand the world of politics.”  
  
“You have developing instincts,” Severus said. _I will not let him forever put himself down if I can help it. I used to think he was seeking compliments when he did so, but now I believe that behavior is so deeply ingrained he no longer notices_. “You knew that it would be best to leave Draco and me to approach the Slytherins, for example.”  
  
Harry shot him a startled glance. “But that’s just common sense.”  
  
Severus gave a small shake of his head and stood. Perhaps now was not the right time to confront Harry over his continual self-deprecation. But eventually, he would make time. Otherwise, Harry would only go on shoving it away and refusing to deal with his own emotions. “Rest now for a time. I will be back shortly to give you the final one of your regime of pain-easing potions.”  
  
“Thank Merlin,” Harry muttered, and sank back into the pillows as though he’d been released from a death sentence.   
  
Severus held his body still to prevent Harry from getting any glimpses of his emotions, and waited until he could respond with a mild tone in his voice. “Does drinking potions I have brewed cause you such distress, then?”  
  
“It’s not that,” Harry said hastily, as if he had guessed what Severus was feeling after all and wanted to reassure him. “But I hate taking any potions. Especially pain-easing potions. They cloud my mind. I feel like I should always be alert, especially now that we have so many people who hate us.”  
  
Severus added that small note to the stack of evidence he was collecting that Harry did _not_ spend enough time worrying about his own pain, and inclined his head. “This is the last one,” he repeated before he slipped out.  
  
This time, his hands did not shake as he stood outside Harry’s door. Of course, the conversation they had just had was not as revealing as the one they had conducted three days ago.  
  
 _I am becoming easier with this, all the same._  
  
*  
  
Draco nibbled the feather of his quill thoughtfully. How best to begin a letter to Millicent? He doubted that reminding her about the time he found her vomiting after she watched the Carrows torture a Hufflepuff was the best way to get her favorably disposed towards him.  
  
But he wanted something _like_ that, something that would remind her, tactfully, that the war had happened and that she owed her freedom from the Dark Lord to Draco’s bondmate.   
  
Draco spent a moment luxuriating in the thought of Harry being his bondmate—he had always wanted someone who would be _his_ before they were anyone else’s, and now he had two of them—and then turned back to the letter. Thinking of Harry and Severus had told him what he ought to write. Trade a vulnerability for a vulnerability.  
  
 _Dear Millicent,  
  
I dare say that you’re surprised to hear from me. Maybe you thought that I considered myself too high and mighty to contact former schoolmates now that I’m bonded to Harry Potter. But I’m also bonded to Severus Snape, and so I’ve come face-to-face with the hatred that many people have for him. Not to mention the hatred many people have for Harry. You’ve probably read about that in the newspapers.   
  
I hate the hatred, Millie. They won’t take the time to understand nuances, those people who only want to throw curses. They don’t understand that killing Dumbledore hurt Severus far worse than it hurt any of those people who hadn’t seen him in decades. They don’t understand that Harry had to compromise to live with us, instead of deciding he’d do it to make everyone angry._  
  
Draco paused, read what he’d written so far, and then nodded. Yes. He’d called her by a nickname, taking a chance; he’d called Harry and Severus by their first names, to show how close he was to them; and he’d confessed his own inner feelings. Millicent might still scorn him in the end, but at least he thought she would be intrigued enough to read further, wondering what he could want from her that was worth exposing his weaknesses like this and sounding gentle and soft.  
  
 _I think it’s time to remind them—and “they” might include some of the people who were at Hogwarts with us—what all of us sacrificed and suffered. I’d like to invite you and your father to come to a meeting at our house in Hogsmeade. The date hasn’t been decided yet, but that’s partially because we’d like to involve you in the decision process at all levels._  
  
There. That was nicely flattering.  
  
 _We need to a make a strong political counterpush to the Minister’s little campaign to get Harry, Severus, and I arrested or assassinated. I don’t know that Harry’s accepted that yet; he seems happy with making a few decisions and hoping for the best. But we’ll need to build a party of our own. I know it._  
  
And _that_ would tell Millicent that he wasn’t entirely under Harry’s thumb when it came to his political actions. He knew his yearmates would require that sort of reassurance. None of them would want to do simply what a Gryffindor told them to do.  
  
 _What features of the counterpush do you think are best? We’ll be waiting for your contribution.  
  
Sincerely,   
Draco Malfoy._  
  
Draco finished the letter with a flourish and then whistled softly. The owl Severus had bought for him the other day, when they had agreed that they would need a way to send secure correspondence that didn’t depend on the ordinary post, flew through the window. Draco spent a moment admiring him. He was only a barn owl, but he had magically sharpened claws and a beak and a bad temper. That was the reason Severus had chosen him; he thought this bird would defend its message better than many others.  
  
Draco fastened the letter to its leg, earning himself several pecks for his pains. The owl never drew blood, but he did appear to want Draco to know that he was doing him a favor.  
  
“Fly,” Draco whispered. “Take this message to Millicent Bulstrode.” He threw his hand up gravely. The owl bit his thumb before flying away.  
  
Draco leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head as he stretched his legs out on the table. He was humming to himself smugly. He had made a contribution to the business of keeping them safe, and a contribution that only he could make. He didn’t have to feel that he wasn’t giving as much to the bond as Severus was, with his ability to brew potions, and as Harry was, with his determination that would drill a hole in mountains.  
  
“Draco?”  
  
He started and almost tumbled backwards at the sound of Severus’s voice from behind him. Severus shot out a hand and steadied the chair, giving Draco an even look as it came back to resting on its legs. Draco cleared his throat and shook his head. “Was there something you needed, Severus?” he asked. “I finished writing that letter to Millicent, and I think we’ll get a response, even if not necessarily a favorable one.”  
  
Severus gave him the narrow, dark smile that Draco knew meant he was pleased with him, and which no one else would ever see, not even Harry. “I must bring one more potion to Harry for his health,” he said. “Then I would appreciate it if you would join me in the bedroom.”  
  
It was a haughty command. Draco (sometimes) didn’t mind when he got haughty commands, so he stood up with a smile. “Mouth or arse this time?” he asked. “Or perhaps a hand or rubbing together?”  
  
It was nice to know that some things he said could still make Severus blush like a virgin.  
  
*  
  
Harry stood up, hanging onto the bed, and took a single tottering step. At least it didn’t make him feel as if he wanted to vomit this time.  
  
 _I shouldn’t be feeling as if I wanted to vomit at all! Stupid gut wound. I almost die and then I’m suddenly in bed for a week? Most of the times that I almost died, I healed more quickly than that._   
  
Harry gritted his teeth and took another step. He knew that he needed to stay physically safe and healthy so that Draco and Severus could have a chance to live. He _knew_ that. But he was so bored, and there was no law that said he should have to stay in bed for this long. He probably could have been up and moving around two days ago, but Draco and Severus had an unfortunate habit of popping into the room and staring at him when he tried to do anything more active than sitting up to eat.  
  
Not _this_ afternoon. They were busy with a complicated potion, and they’d barely asked Harry if he would be all right before they disappeared. Harry had assured them that of course he would be, and climbed out of bed the moment he heard the potions lab door close.  
  
Now he just had to make it to the other side of the room.  
  
Harry gritted his teeth, set his jaw, and began to walk. Sweat poured down his forehead. A desperate aching surged across his stomach, as if his stupid guts were _still_ sliding out of alignment. _Why does it take a week to fix this? Surely they’ve dealt with a Gut Chewing Curse before me_?  
  
But if he pursued that line of thought, then he would have to wonder if Severus was right and Harry had made matters worse because he’d ignored his intestines sliding around as he defended Draco and Severus. He didn’t want to wonder about that, so he concentrated on the far wall.  
  
And then the house shook.  
  
Harry whirled around and caught his breath as pain briefly stabbed him through the gut, but the house shook again, and the wards trembled, and fear for his bondmates urged him to practically leap across the room so that he could look out the window.  
  
He saw a flash of dark robes, and for a moment thought _Death Eaters_! But the voice that was yelling beyond the wards didn’t recite words that sounded like the ones Harry would have expected from Death Eaters.  
  
“Coward, you’re supposed to be the hero of our world and you go running to the Minister for help?” Another blast. Harry, clinging to the windowsill, thought the witch in question was probably striking at the foundations of the wards, where they joined the earth, and so sending shocks running into the foundations of the house as well. “For that matter, you’re supposed to be the hero of our world and you live with _Death Eaters_? I challenge you to a wizard’s duel, Harry Potter. Come out and show me what you’re made of, unless you’re _afraid_ and need to hide behind your Minister and Death Eaters to protect yourself!”  
  
The taunt about being afraid started a fire burning in Harry’s brain. He turned towards the stairs—  
  
Then Draco burst through the bedroom door, panting, and said, “It’s Huxley.”  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes, the fire in his brain at once cooling to little more than ashes. “Oh, is it?” he murmured. He made a few rapid calculations. The flying magic from Huxley’s attack on the wards had to have alerted other people in Hogsmeade. Her previous attack on Harry had been quick, possible to ignore; at least, Harry didn’t have proof that any of his neighbors had seen it. But this time, they ought to have an audience, even if they only peered from behind curtains.  
  
He smiled and held out an arm to Draco. “Help me downstairs,” he said. “And make sure that Severus is behind us when we go out to confront her. I think we ought to face her as a triad, don’t you?”  
  
“No, I don’t,” Draco said, and tried to tug him in the direction of the bed. “I think it’s much better if we all remain behind the wards until both she and your temporary madness about facing her have gone away.”  
  
Harry went limp, so that Draco had to support or drop him. Then he locked his legs and climbed back up to stand on his feet, never looking away from Draco’s face. He had discovered already that Draco was more influenced by a direct gaze then he would probably ever admit to himself.  
  
“No,” he said, softly. “We have to face this. I’m tired of allowing other people to do whatever they want, including trying to hurt me and my bondmates. This time, she’s damaging our home and our public reputation. More people will believe that you and Severus are in charge of my movements if we don’t go out and face her. At the very least, we can offer them something different to believe.”  
  
Draco swallowed. He started to say something, twice, and each time stopped with another swallow. Finally, he bowed his head. Harry watched him through Huxley’s next attack on the wards and tried to ignore his own impatience.  
  
“What is it?” he finally whispered, when he thought Draco wouldn’t speak without encouragement.  
  
“I don’t want you to show yourself,” Draco said, in a voice that Harry thought he was trying to make louder, but which stayed soft and choked no matter what he did. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger. I know that Severus doesn’t, either. You’ve already suffered so much. Why can’t we dare this danger, while you stay in hiding?” His hands pressed down suddenly on Harry’s.  
  
“Because they won’t believe you in the way they’ll believe me,” Harry said gently. “I’m Harry Potter. My name and face are still what we need to convince them. I know, it’s not fair. You should be respected for what you are and what you did—”  
  
“We don’t care about being respected by people like Huxley.” Draco was staring intently into his face. “We care about keeping you safe. I _said_ that.”  
  
Harry was relieved to see the return of Draco’s irritation. It was something normal after the trouble he’d had showing his emotions.   
  
“You’ll be helping to keep me safe by helping me face her,” he said calmly. “Now, let’s go downstairs.” The attacks on the wards had lessened, probably because Huxley was getting tired, but her screams for him to come out still went on. Harry knew that anyone watching would think he was a coward at the moment. He didn’t intend to let Huxley have it all her own way.  
  
Draco sighed, a sound that seemed to come from his toes, and took Harry’s arm. Harry gave him a smile, which didn’t lessen the sharp lines of worry his face was carved in. Harry hoped that seeing how well he handled Huxley would do that.  
  
*  
  
Draco kept one eye on Harry as they opened the door of the house and Harry stepped onto the front stoop. His face was as pale as Weasley’s had got when Draco was keeping her away, and almost all his weight rested on the hands he had on Draco and Severus’s arms.  
  
For all that, he stepped forwards as if he felt fine and was in the best of shape, going out to battle a dragon.  
  
Draco and Severus exchanged glances over Harry’s head. Once again, he was refusing to pay much attention to his pain.   
  
_Or—it’s not that, even_ , Draco thought in frustration as he looked towards the garden wall, beyond the shimmer of the wards, and saw Huxley spring to attention at the sight of them. _I’ve known people who ignored pain because they thought it made them look good or tough, and Harry isn’t doing that. But it’s as though the goal he has at the moment gets all his attention and his pain is a distant second._   
  
Draco didn’t have much more idea how to deal with it than Severus did.  
  
He locked his arm into place around Harry’s shoulder and behind his back, at the moment Severus did the same. Harry nodded to both of them and then faced Huxley with narrowed eyes and lifted head.  
  
“I thought so!” Huxley yelled, her voice projected by a _Sonorus_ Charm but distorted by the wards. “You can’t do anything without the support of your Death Eaters, can you? A hero, indeed! I’m more a hero than you are, even though I saved fewer people, because at least I didn’t betray the cause I fought for immediately!”  
  
Severus hissed under his breath, and Draco nodded at him, though he wasn’t sure Severus had paid attention to the gesture. It was sounding less and less as though Huxley was a Muggleborn who had just decided randomly to attack Harry, and more and more as though someone had put her up to it—someone who probably wanted to claim Harry’s place in the politics of the wizarding world.   
  
Harry didn’t pay attention to that, of course. In fact, he had probably dismissed the words about his heroism the moment they reached his ears, Draco thought. He had a habit of doing that. “And does a hero murder?” he was asking Huxley now, in a mild voice. “Does she use a Gut Chewing Curse on someone who’s never done anything to offend her?”  
  
“You _did_ offend me!” Even muffled, Huxley had a mighty screech. “You turned your back on the cause I fought for and you should have stayed with the moment it was safe and convenient to do so!”  
  
“Your accusations don’t even make any sense.” Harry sounded bored. Draco concealed an exultant grin. That was exactly the right tone to take—though, in this case, he thought that boredom was Harry’s real emotion and not a calculated move. That was all right. Sometimes Harry’s instincts could guide them, and then Severus and Draco would come in with their own political support. “Why would I kill Voldemort if I wanted Death Eater support? And why would I choose two people whom most of the wizarding world despises to assist me in my treachery? There are other Death Eaters I could have picked, such as the ones who were tried and exonerated, or barely involved.”  
  
Draco winced. It was true, what Harry had said about him and Severus, but still, it was a bit brutal to hear the words spit out like that.  
  
He looked at Severus, but there was no sign that he had even heard Harry. He was staring straight ahead, eyes narrowed, probably trying to absorb every nuance of Huxley’s behavior that he could. Draco told himself to stop caring as much about personal insults and attend to important things the way Severus did.  
  
“You have power!” Huxley was saying shrilly now. “You could want to take over the wizarding world, and you would have killed You-Know-Who because he was a rival.”  
  
“That still doesn’t explain why I would have chosen Draco and Severus to help me.” Harry took a single limping step forwards. Draco danced a moment, but luckily managed to support him in the way he needed before he either fell over or looked ridiculous. “As for power, I defeated Voldemort through luck and accidental magic. I had no idea what I was doing. Does that sound like a wizard who has a lot of power in battle to you?”  
  
Severus’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing. Draco wasn’t sure why, though. He resolved to pay even closer attention.  
  
“Your accidental magic could—” Huxley began.  
  
“No, it couldn’t,” Harry said, and his voice was sharp with anger. “That’s why it’s _accidental_ magic. I had no idea how to control it, no idea what it would do when it flew away from me and started creating the bonds between me and Draco and Severus. I couldn’t use it as a weapon against you. I don’t _want_ to use it as a weapon against you. There would be no point. You don’t have anything I want.  
  
“And I’m sick and tired of people telling me that I should sacrifice more for them than I did. I gave up my upbringing in the wizarding world, because it would have been too dangerous for me to be raised by people who might turn out to be Death Eaters, or in a place where Death Eaters could get to me. My parents died. I gave up a peaceful childhood. Do you know how many times I faced Voldemort, in one form or another, when I was at school and not even of age yet? _Four_. How many times did you face him?”  
  
Huxley started to answer, but Harry bulled straight ahead, his words lashing out with a ferocity that told Draco how long he had been suppressing them.  
  
“Then I faced him after giving up my seventh year at Hogwarts to destroy him, and finally killed him. But even then, I had to give up part of my freedom to be bonded.” He pushed his sleeves back from his arms, showing the phoenixes. “I can feel what Draco and Severus do. I have to share magic with them to content the bond. You know that, because you read it in Skeeter’s article. Tell me, does that sound like _fun_?”  
  
Draco stiffened and took a deep breath, trying to remind himself that Harry wasn’t disparaging him and Severus, or even the bonds that tied them together. He was simply trying to remind the idiots who saw them that he hadn’t chosen this, which was perfectly true. What he got from the bond at the moment was anger like trees on fire, and that self-loathing like a thin yellow liquid, without the despair that had earlier haunted it.  
  
“I’ve given up more than any of you,” Harry went on in a rising voice. He turned and looked at the windows of the other houses in Hogsmeade. “The very _least_ I deserve is to be left in peace. Instead, I almost gave up my _life_ because this woman used a Gut Chewing Curse on me and left me in hospital for days. Then the Minister kicked me out of the Auror program, so I lost the career that I was going to have, and he nearly cost me my bondmates. He did cost me his friendship.   
  
“If you still think I should sacrifice things for you and your precious world? _Fuck you_. I don’t care how much fighting you did, how many sacrifices you made. They were still _less than mine_.”  
  
He turned away, his head bowed, breathing harshly. Draco wasn’t sure how much of that was from anger and how much from pain and weakness. He shifted his arm so that Harry could lean on him anyway, feeling adrenaline surge through him. If Huxley had attacked at that moment, Draco thought he could have blasted her apart.  
  
“That was right,” he whispered to Harry. “You were right.”  
  
“Indeed you were,” Severus said. His eyes were brilliant in the way that they became when one of his students, wronged by another professor, produced evidence that vindicated him. “That was the right thing to say, and it has given them something to think about. I suspect many of them did not know that Huxley tried to murder you. Now that information will spread, and they will wonder more at the Ministry for releasing her.”  
  
Harry gave a heavy huff. Draco was not sure what that meant, but he tightened his grip on Harry just in case. The self-loathing in the bond grew brighter, and Draco exchanged another glance with Severus. _Yes, we must address this_.  
  
Steady applause interrupted them then. Draco picked up his wand to aim and looked over his shoulder.   
  
Near Huxley stood a tall woman with a face more pointy than Draco’s, long silver hair hanging to her shoulders, and yellow eyes like an owl’s. Her hands and her body were both stick-thin; even her expensive white robes could not conceal that. She clasped her hands together as Draco watched and gave them an equally thin smile with colorless lips.  
  
“Very well done,” she said. “I have made the right decision in coming myself.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth to ask who she was, but Severus cut across him before he could. “Brynhildr Swanfair. Welcome.”  
  
Swanfair bowed slightly. “Indeed. Will you invite me in?” She glanced at Huxley. “If you require a guest gift, I have someone here who would make an excellent one, once trussed and appropriately punished for her actions against you.”


	12. Chapter 12

  
Swanfair was seated in one of their ground floor eating areas, sipping tea. She had not brought Huxley in as a guest gift. She _had_ brought a large smile, and swift hands, and keen eyes, and a presence that made Severus feel as if she could be hedged round in wards and not be safe.  
  
 _This is a dangerous woman._   
  
But in that he only said what was obvious, and what he felt sure Draco and Harry would scold him for. So he kept silent, and let Swanfair speak, in a constant, light stream of chatter about how she had not known what sorts of opposition they faced from the rest of the wizarding world until she saw the newspaper articles in response to Skeeter’s articles, and how she would like to help them face it.  
  
Severus wondered idly who she thought the performance would convince. Draco was already on his guard simply from hearing her last name; she belonged to one of the families that the Malfoys had feuded with and contented for power against. Harry—pale but determined to not look weak in front of Swanfair, a plan Severus had reluctantly approved—sat on the couch and watched her with a wary expression. Severus doubted that he automatically believed offers of help any more.  
  
 _One of the sacrifices he did not list was his innocence_. But it seemed that either the ones he had listed or the arrival of Swanfair had impressed Huxley, because she had left quietly after a few last-minute threats.  
  
“Enough about me,” Swanfair said, setting the teacup aside. “I have told you what I want. Will you tell me what _you_ want?” Her teeth shone like diamonds, making the smile both hard and fiery.  
  
Harry stirred. “You haven’t told us what you want,” he said. “I don’t believe for a minute that you’ve come here because of any desire for altruism on your part. You want to make allies of us, and you thought this would be the best way to do it.”  
  
Draco hissed, a suck of indrawn breath that Severus could have slapped him for. It betrayed far more weakness than Harry’s words had.  
  
Swanfair stared at Harry with the same smile for a moment, then dropped it and leaned forwards. “You’re quite right,” she said. “I want to pursue my own advantage, and I am glad that you are intelligent enough to recognize that. I am here because I think that I can most effectively pursue my advantage in your company, and help you to achieve your goals at the same time.”  
  
“You don’t know what our goals are.” Harry was leaning openly on the back of the couch now, his words coming out in pants, but Severus didn’t see the contempt in Swanfair’s face that he had expected. Perhaps she was impressed that he had dared to face her like this.  
  
“I can guess what they are,” Swanfair said, still calmly, her face still hard. “You want to halt the attacks on you and your bondmates. You want to have a safe place to live. You want the Ministry to stop telling you what to do.”  
  
“You forgot one,” said Harry, and he ground his teeth together. Severus stifled the impulse to sweep him up the stairs to bed. That was where he needed to be for his short-term survival, but being on the couch was just as important to their long-term goals.  
  
“Which one would that be?” Swanfair’s voice was solicitous. Her eyes gave nothing away to contradict that emotion, though Severus was certain she didn’t truly feel it. He wondered for a moment about interfering, but Swanfair had made it clear from the beginning that she would rather speak with Harry, and it would make Harry look weak to take over from him now.   
  
_Or as if Draco and I distrusted him. That impression could be even more fatal._  
  
“To force the wizarding world to stop depending on me to save them.” Harry spoke those words in a rush of clear breath that Severus could imagine him saving up so that he could propel that particular sentence out. “I’ve made enough sacrifices. It’s time they stopped thinking that I’m going to make any more.”  
  
Draco gave an excited little bounce, which he calmed at once when Swanfair looked at him. Severus could understand the gesture, especially given the river of molten metal flowing down the bond. Harry was determined as Severus had rarely seen him determined before. If he was tiring at last of being made the Ministry’s whipping boy and the constant Chosen One, then perhaps he would begin to concentrate on things more important to _them.  
  
Such as his health._  
  
Swanfair was silent for long moments, in which it seemed that her eyes did not blink. Then she began to smile again, and this time the smile was a bit more genuine than the last one she had given. Which did not mean they could trust her, Severus cautioned himself.  
  
“Destroying a heroic reputation,” she said. “That is something I have not done for long years. I would relish the chance to break one again.”  
  
“I don’t want to just break it,” Harry corrected her, with more than a little sharpness in his voice. “That would mean a lot of nonsense gets screamed at me about how I’m betraying my cause—well, you heard what Huxley shouted.”  
  
“Yes.” Swanfair folded her hands and used the tips of her tallest fingers to stroke her chin. “We don’t want that.”  
  
“I want to establish myself, and my bondmates, as _something else_ ,” Harry said. “Convince the wizarding world that we’re not responsible for them, but not a danger, either. The problem is that I don’t know how to do that.”  
  
Severus winced at the confession of incapacity, then reminded himself that he and Draco could only have concealed the same thing, not come up with a way to achieve what Harry wanted. He was not sure there _was_ a way to achieve what Harry wanted.  
  
Swanfair sat quite still again. Then she said, “Shall I tell you what _I_ want, Mr. Potter?”  
  
Harry nodded. Draco would have said something reckless; Severus would have murmured a compliment. But once again, Harry’s honesty seemed to capture and hold Swanfair’s attention where political and mental games wouldn’t have.  
  
“I want to gain my prestige back,” Swanfair said. “Being touched with the Dark Arts is not a good thing in this new world, and my family has a history of that. So I want a new reputation. Allying myself with the Savior of the Wizarding World is a plan that has a certain logical validity.”  
  
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Harry said, shaking his head. “If you want me to stay the Savior, then we can’t be allies.”  
  
“Yes, we can,” said Swanfair, leaning forwards eagerly. “I want you to be something other than the submissive Chosen One you are right now, doing whatever the public and the Ministry request of you. I want you to be the man you showed yourself to be with the speech you made today: someone who demands a little return for the effort he’s expended in defense of the wizarding world. _That_ is the strong paragon who will cast his light on me and on others like me. You’ll win the most allies with that kind of posture.”  
  
“But will that earn us safety?” Harry gave her a jaundiced look. “It sounds as though the people who hate us right now would hate us more than ever, and the attacks would step up.”  
  
“That’s why you emphasize the strength.” Swanfair shrugged. “There would be some attacks at first, but you’re already facing those. In the end, I think we can make you—and your bondmates—part of something so powerful that they won’t dare to simply fling curses. They’ll have to enter the political arena if they want to bring you down.” She smiled, and this time it was the smile of a cat who was waiting by a mousehole. “And when they do that, I, and the others with political experience, will be waiting for them.”  
  
Severus expected that Harry would say something about acting and how he would still have to act if he became the person Swanfair wanted him to be, but his face was thoughtful, and the bond thrummed with the thick, oily liquid of deep thoughts instead of the steel now. Then Harry said, “I think it sounds like it can work. You’re talking about a political party, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” said Swanfair. “The only way to ensure absolute safety is to change some of the laws and have power in the Ministry.”  
  
Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He looked ivory-pale, and Severus could feel the bond pulsing with pain now like heavy, panting breaths. It was a wonder that he still sounded normal when he spoke. “I’ll think about it. We’ll talk later. It’s a good idea, but we need to consider the implications.”  
  
Swanfair looked at Draco and Severus with almost startled eyes, as if she had forgotten they were there in the excitement of talking to Harry. That reassured Severus. She was not some invincible politician, the way her reputation for surviving crises and getting revenge on her enemies sometimes made her sound. She could be tricked and thwarted if they decided that they did not want to ally with her.  
  
“And you want power, too, don’t you?” Harry opened his eyes to fix them on her. Severus hoped that Swanfair couldn’t see how much effort that took him. “You want to be someone important in this new political party.”  
  
“Of course,” Swanfair, sounding faintly surprised that it had taken Harry this long to mention it. “Life is nothing without power.”  
  
Harry smiled, though it wasn’t a smile that Severus would have considered reassuring if _he_ were the one angling for an alliance, and shut his eyes again. “Of course not,” he said.  
  
Swanfair ignored the sarcastic tone in his voice magnificently, rising to her feet. “We will talk again later,” she said, managing to make it sound as if it were her idea this time. She looked thoughtfully at Draco and Severus from the corner of her eye, and nodded a little. “You may remove the wards that you have surrounded me with,” she said. “I understand your caution, but we are allies now.”  
  
“Not officially agreed-upon allies yet,” Severus said, meeting her eyes. “I would feel better if I waited to remove them until you had left the house.”  
  
Swanfair sighed, the sound of a long-suffering martyr. “When I have established myself as the trustworthy running hound to the Savior of the wizarding world, then no one will doubt me in such a way,” she said, and shook her head.  
  
Severus escorted her to the door and waited until she was beyond the wards on the front garden before he took off the protective net he had surrounded her with, as promised. Swanfair gave a carefree wave of her hand and walked away towards the main street of Hogsmeade. Severus watched her go, and studied the heads darting out of houses to watch her pass, though from this distance not even he could see hostile intent or kindliness in their eyes.  
  
Then he felt the bond pulse with quivering flickers of anger and agony, and he turned swiftly back to the sitting room.  
  
But by then, the damage had been done.  
  
*  
  
Draco waited until Swanfair and Severus had both left the room. He had that much respect for Harry, and enough sense to realize that Severus would not want him to confront Harry while Swanfair was present.  
  
But once they were gone, he could lean forwards, catch Harry’s eye—or stare at his face, since Harry was currently leaning back on the couch with his eyes closed—and demand, “What did you think you were doing?”  
  
Harry opened his eyes and murmured, “I thought I was negotiating with Swanfair. And before that, I was telling Huxley and the rest of the wizarding world where to get off. Those are both things that I thought you wanted.” His words were slurred, his eyes glazed. He badly needed to rest and another dose of the pain-easing potions that Severus had hoped they could stop giving him.  
  
That infuriated Draco further. They hadn’t made as many sacrifices as Harry had, but they had made enough, and they deserved at _least_ the respect from their bondmate that keeping himself alive would imply. “We want them, but not at the expense of your health,” he said. “You could have stayed in bed, even when you felt Huxley attacking the wards, and waited for one of us to come to you and explain the situation.”  
  
Harry forced himself up on one elbow and stared at Draco incredulously. “I’ve been mistreated and ignored and knocked around half my life by the wizarding world, and you think that I’ll tamely lie back and let _you_ have control of me?”  
  
Draco rose to his feet, shaking. He hadn’t realized how angry he was until now, when Harry had made it clear what context he thought of their attempts to keep him safe in.  
  
“We don’t want control of you,” he whispered, but what kept his voice low was rage and not anguish. Harry couldn’t be allowed to think that he could get away with things if he looked pale and appealing and let the bond vibrate with pain. “We want to keep you _safe_. We want to make you think of yourself once in a while, when it seems as though you’ll do anything rather than that—”  
  
“No one understands me when I say that I _do_ think of myself, but only when I have the most severe problems,” Harry said loudly, cutting Draco off. “If someone else has the most severe problems, I help them first. I—”  
  
“And what do you call the pain that you’re feeling at the moment, other than a severe problem?” Draco demanded.  
  
Harry glared at him. “I trusted you not to use what you were feeling through the bond against me,” he hissed. “I reckon I shouldn’t have.”  
  
Draco could have exploded with fear and fury and frustration. That was the only reason that he said what he did next, or at least that was the way he explained it to Severus later. It was not because he _believed_ what he said.  
  
Or not for longer than a moment, anyway.  
  
“And we trusted you to give a fuck about our lives by keeping yourself safe,” he said coldly, “after you almost died from that gut wound and we almost died, too. Obviously, your obsession with denying your pain and presenting this heroic image to the world matters more than us. Oh, no, _Harry Potter_ never gets injured. _Harry Potter_ never runs into something he can’t handle. _Harry Potter_ is the hero to everybody, and wants to be. _Harry Potter_ is—”  
  
And then the pain coming through the bond like a tsunami shut him up—that and the way Harry pressed back into the couch, his eyes wide and his face pale and his arm curled around his belly as if he were striving, again, to hold his intestines inside.  
  
“I don’t _feel_ that,” Harry whispered. “You _know_ I don’t feel that. That’s the kind of thing I want to get _away_ from, not encourage.” He turned his head away from Draco, as if Draco was one of the people who demanded impossible sacrifices from him and whom he wanted to escape.  
  
Draco stared at him, then licked his lips. The flame of his anger had burned itself out, as if its kindling had been taken away suddenly.  
  
And it had been, he thought as he watched Harry hunch further into himself. He wanted to touch him, but didn’t dare.  
  
Severus burst into the room then, glancing coldly back and forth between the two of them. Draco flinched and lowered his head as Severus looked at him, which seemed, combined with the bond, to tell Severus all he needed to know. He raised his eyebrows, which sent Draco’s stomach plummeting down further.  
  
“We will speak later,” Severus said, in the kind of tone that always meant the worst detention for a Slytherin who had embarrassed his House, and then he reached out, murmured a Lightening Charm, and lifted Harry in his arms. He walked towards the stairs without glancing at Draco again.  
  
Draco sat down on the couch as they left the room and tried to consider how that had all gone wrong.  
  
 _I just wanted to tell him I felt, how him putting himself in danger_ made _me feel.  
  
But then the anger changed_ , he thought dismally, seeing it clearly now, as he couldn’t when the anger consumed him. _And I only wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt me. I know it wasn’t deliberate. I know that he didn’t have this goal of making Severus and me hurt in mind.  
  
But that only makes it worse, because it makes it all the harder to reason him out of what he’s doing._  
  
Draco sighed. He was angry at himself, and a bit angry at Harry still, and full of dread as to what would happen when Severus found out the full details of their row. He hadn’t _meant_ to do that, but it was done, and this time, unlike when he had hexed Weasley, he didn’t have previous dislike and a sense of righteousness to convince him that he hadn’t done anything wrong—unless he wanted to count the way he’d disliked Harry at Hogwarts.  
  
 _And I really, really don’t want to do that. I thought I’d grown a bit since then. I don’t want to go back to having to think of myself like a child._   
  
*  
  
By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Harry had the physical pain under control. He could have stood on his own two feet and walked.   
  
But the emotional pain was fighting him, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to wrestle it back any time in the next half hour.  
  
“You need not hide.”  
  
Harry stiffened. Somehow, he had forgotten that there was still someone with him who could read his emotions through the bond. Of course Severus would know exactly what he was trying to do, and probably disapprove, the way that Draco had, of Harry doing his best to make himself more comfortable to be with.  
  
 _But I bet that he won’t use my emotions against me the way Draco did._   
  
Bitterness raced and coiled through him like oil in water, and he indulged in it for only a moment before he found Severus placing him on his bed. Harry took a deep breath and pushed himself up his pillows at once. He didn’t try to fake a smile, because that wouldn’t _ever_ have fooled Severus, much less now that the bond stretched between them like a wall that his every feeling sprayed with graffiti. “Leave me alone, please,” he did say, because he wanted to deal with this himself, the way he’d dealt with his pain when Ginny had broken up with him.  
  
“No,” Severus said, and sat down in the chair next to Harry’s bed as if he sat there every day. Harry tried to forget that he _did_ sit there every day as he glared at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I said, _no_ ,” Severus repeated, and leaned forwards. “You have been left alone to deal with your pain too often. I do not think it wise to do so now, when you are struggling along in the aftermath of the first deep argument with your bondmates since you began to trust us.” His face was pale and his eyes bright with dark fire. Harry stared at him in fascination. This was the most open he had ever seen Severus.  
  
 _And God knows what it’s costing him, to be this open_. Harry had thought _he_ was a private person about his feelings until he met Severus.  
  
“I don’t see what you can do,” he muttered anyway, because that was true, and didn’t he owe his bondmates the truth? _Draco hurt me_. That particular truth still consumed him, and Harry hated the fact that it did. “I have to think about this, and wallow in my self-pity for a while, and then push it aside and—”  
  
“No, you do not.” Severus reached out and lightly circled one of Harry’s wrists with two fingers, as if he feared to press down and possibly cause Harry more pain. “You are not _alone_ now. Do you understand what that means?”  
  
“I understand that Draco can spy on my mind,” Harry yelled, his own anger breaking free, “and yet somehow _still_ think that I’m trying to save you because I want to be a bloody hero! Fuck, I thought he was _smarter_ than that! I thought that sharing my emotions with the two of you had changed him!” He laughed humorlessly. “Obviously not. He still delights in hurting me.”  
  
“That, at least,” said Severus in a rustling voice like an unfolding roll of silk that Harry resented even as it soothed him, “is not true. Draco lashed out in agony and anger, and he did not mean to achieve the result he did.”  
  
Harry wanted to turn away from that. Just once, he wanted to have the battle with his own feelings out in peace, without thinking about what other people needed or wanted, and yell meaningless obscenities for a while.  
  
But then he remembered that Draco could feel what he was feeling, and he wondered what it would do to Draco.  
  
“I know,” Harry groaned. “It was a mistake, and I have to forgive him. And I will, eventually. But I want to brood right now. Go away, please.”  
  
“No.” Severus leaned forwards, his hold on Harry’s wrist tightening. “Doing that does nothing but give you space to make up lies that then convince you of your own invulnerability—or your need to suppress your own pain, I am not certain which. Draco was mistaken in the way that he tried to go about it. However, I will admit that I understand his impulse to address your stubbornness.”  
  
“ _What_ stubbornness?” Harry snapped, using his shoulders to shove himself up the pillows again. He was sinking down them, and he didn’t like the sensation of Severus leaning over him. “I’ve done everything I can! I haven’t blindly trusted Swanfair or _anyone_ else, and I’ve opened the bond to you, and I’ve taken these stupid pain-easing potions and lain in bed for a week and told everyone about the bond so that I could keep you safe—”  
  
“Tell me why you think the pain-easing potions are stupid,” Severus said, in that weighty tone that Harry used to hate from McGonagall. It said that the speaker wasn’t going to get angry, no matter what. “After all, they are not literally intelligent, and so cannot be blamed for their inability to comprehend the alphabet or the ingredients of several common potions other than themselves.”  
  
Harry stared at him suspiciously. “Did you just make a _joke_?” he demanded.  
  
“I might have.” Severus gave him a fleeting smile, but his face went back to being grave in a moment. Harry shifted and looked away. He _hated_ it when people looked at him with concern. It made him want to reassure them, and sometimes reassurance got to be exhausting. “Now. Why do you resent so much making yourself feel better?”  
  
Harry fidgeted. _You’re phrasing it wrong_. “I don’t hate making myself feel better. It’s just—it’s been a week. Why haven’t I healed of the Gut Chewing Curse yet?” His cheeks burned. He felt stupid talking about this. He wished Severus would stop.  
  
“Because the curse is a complicated one,” Severus said, “and because your treatment has been interrupted several times, and because you have had to be unfairly on your feet and run out of bed to attend to other things.” He raised a hand when Harry opened his mouth to argue. “I am not blaming you. I know you could hardly avoid those obstacles to your healing. But I _am_ saying that you have not actually lain in bed for a week. Many other things have happened which laid additional stress on your body and mind.” He raised an eyebrow at Harry. “I do not think you will disagree that those things stressed you.”  
  
“No, of course not.” Harry toyed with the edge of the blankets. His cheeks were still bright red. He still hated this.  
  
Severus’s hand moved again, so that this time he was holding Harry’s forearm, his thumb smoothing over one of the scarlet beaks of the conjoined phoenixes. “Tell me why you hate talking about this, Harry.”  
  
“It’s _embarrassing_ ,” Harry said, glad to find a question that he had a concrete answer for. “I don’t like—people looking at me when I’m in pain. It’s _embarrassing_.” He wondered why Severus was looking at him with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t lying, and he didn’t have any other words that would fit what he was feeling. “I’m sorry that I don’t have as large a vocabulary as you and Draco do,” he added defiantly, lifting his head.   
  
“Who will it embarrass you before?” Severus asked him quietly. “Draco and I have both picked up more embarrassing things from your emotions.”  
  
Harry’s cheeks stung again as he thought of the first night he’d spent with Ginny, before he’d dared to shut them out. “I just—I don’t like people _looking_. That was why Draco was wrong when he said that I wanted to be a hero,” he added, hoping to get Severus’s attention off him and back to the argument so they could discuss someone else. “I don’t want people to stare at me and follow me around and ask where my scar went! I never wanted that. No matter what _you_ thought, either.”  
  
“I know that, now.” Severus caressed his arm, this time touching one of the phoenix wings. “Will you allow me to apologize for my preconceptions and all the years we wasted when we could have been working as allies during the various returns of the Dark Lord?”  
  
Harry stared at Severus. He knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t help it. He had thought they were just going to agree to ignore those years when they didn’t like each other, and proceed into their bonded lives as if they were new people.  
  
Severus shook his head slowly. “That you are still so surprised at my apology means that I have further to go,” he murmured, his voice wry for some reason.  
  
“I’m not surprised at that,” Harry said. “I just—you don’t _have_ to apologize, you know? I understand now why you acted the way you did. We have plenty of other things to start thinking about. Such as the way Draco ‘lashed out in his agony and anger,’” he added.  
  
“But part of his agony and anger comes from the years when you hated each other,” Severus said reasonably. “Not addressing that does not work. You still don’t trust us not to hurt you, do you, Harry?”  
  
Harry glared at him. _More people finding fault with me, always finding fault. I can’t do anything right, can I? I try to do the best I can, and it’s never enough_! “Of course not. I don’t trust anyone _not to hurt me_. Even Ron and Hermione could do it accidentally. And if you think that I should make your life and Draco’s life a perfect smooth experience, so _sorry_ , but I can’t do that.” He let the full weight of his bitterness over not being perfect but being _expected_ to be perfect come out in his voice. He knew Severus was getting it through the bond, but he might as well receive it from two directions at once. Why not? Why shouldn’t he be as miserable as Harry?  
  
He knew he would feel guilty about that later, but at the moment, it sounded reasonable to him.  
  
*  
  
 _I don’t trust anyone not to hurt me._   
  
That, combined with the statement about making Draco and Severus’s lives perfect experiences, told Severus at last what the problem was.  
  
Harry thought he should be perfect, and save the world and other people without mistakes. When he made them, he grew angry at the unrealistic expectations others had of him, but also angry at himself for making the mistake in the first place. He didn’t like being physically weak, being hurt, being “looked at,” because that would mean that others could see that he wasn’t perfect. And then he would grow more angry over both what other people demanded from him and what he demanded of himself, and the cycle would begin again.  
  
That enabled Severus to make sense of the weltering emotions flowing through the bond. Harry was angry in several ways, which darted and flashed like lightning and then slowed to a slug-slime flow. He was angry at Draco for hurting him and angry at himself for being hurt and being angry at Draco. A “perfect” bondmate would have understood the situation from the beginning and somehow prevented the fight.  
  
Or so Harry thought, and who could blame him for thinking that way? If he had ever had a normal peer relationship, Severus had not seen it. He dealt with a public who swung back and forth between idolizing him and thinking him mad or dangerous, and his ties to his two closest friends were necessarily abnormally intense, given how many times they had faced death and danger together at such a young age.  
  
There had never been someone to explain to Harry that he might sometimes—often—make mistakes without costing other people their lives or ruining those lives.  
  
Severus even understood the self-loathing he had felt that first night after the bond took hold in the Hogwarts hospital wing. As he began to understand what his accidental magic had done, Harry both resented the loss of his freedom and hated himself for messing up Draco and Severus’s lives.  
  
It was not the first time in his life—though it had happened more often in his spy days—that Severus had so suddenly and completely understood someone. It was perhaps the first time in his life that such understanding had produced compassion instead of scorn.  
  
He placed one hand on Harry’s shoulder, moving slowly, so that Harry had no reason to feel frightened. Harry’s nostrils flared, but he continued steadily glaring, which Severus thought was the best reaction he could expect.  
  
“Harry,” Severus said quietly. “You _can_ trust us not to hurt you.”  
  
“Because Draco has proven that works so well,” Harry drawled, shaking his head.  
  
“I mean,” Severus said, “that you can trust us not to purposefully hurt you. Draco’s prime motivation was to make you realize your own danger and thus act to better protect yourself. Accidental hurt, as you pointed out, can come from anything and anyone. But we will do our very best not to inflict even that. This is only a misstep, not the ending of our path, and it is not the way we will always be.” He drew a deep breath and then continued. He had thought about waiting, but because he understood the reasons for Harry’s self-loathing now, he thought his mind was as clear on the matter as it ever would be. “And there is no reason that you have to be perfect. Draco said that because it was the most hurtful thing he could think of, precisely because he knows it is not true. We do not _want_ you to be perfect. We want you to be safe. And happy.”  
  
Harry stared at him, astonished and wary and hostile, the expression on his face perfectly matching the emotions throbbing through the bond. “I—you don’t understand,” he said. “That’s not the reason I was upset.”  
  
“I think it is,” said Severus, feeling his way gingerly. Merlin knew Harry had plenty of reasons to hate flat contradictions from people older than he was. But Severus thought this was one he needed. “If the only reason you stand up from your bed early and fight your way through pain is because you expect too much of yourself, knowing even as you expect it that it is unreasonable, then you should take all the time you need to heal. We will not think you weak because of it.”  
  
“Right,” Harry said. The bond pulsed with little indignant waves, and behind that came an electric current of memories. “Because you Slytherins are _so_ impressed with weakness.”  
  
“Draco and I are many things besides Slytherin,” Severus said. “You know that. And did you not understand me? I know you are too intelligent to willfully misunderstand my words, Harry. I said, not that we will overlook weakness, but that proper care for your physical health will not strike us as weakness in the first place.”  
  
Harry balled his hands into fists. “I don’t know that,” he said.  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow and took a risk. Perhaps it was too early for this, but Harry needed some absolute assurance. “Then open the bonds the other way,” he said. “Just for a moment. Concentrate on me, and on the flame that represents my emotions to you.”  
  
Harry gasped as though someone had hit him in the stomach, then said, “I told you that doesn’t work. Not when I don’t know what the colors mean.”  
  
“Neither did Draco and I have any reason to connect the visions that we see intuitively with certain emotions,” Severus said. “At first it was easier to watch the expression on your face and combine understanding of that with what we received through the bond. I think you could perhaps learn the colors of the flames if you concentrated on them, rather than on blocking your awareness of what they might mean. Your reluctance to be involved in this bond with us is still operating on that level, Harry.”  
  
Harry glared at him some more. Severus looked back at him calmly some more, and left his hand on Harry’s shoulder in place.  
  
Finally, Harry grumpily shut his eyes and opened the bonds the other way.  
  
Severus closed his eyes and was _complete_.  
  
*  
  
Harry was bathed in an almost instant flood of light and color, music and movement.  
  
The flames burst into being on either side of his visions again. Reluctantly, Harry turned his full attention to them and tried to match the expression on Severus’s face with the darker flame on the left of his vision, hovering near his eye like a headache aura, that he knew represented him.  
  
The flame darted back and forth, lightening almost to blue in the center and then curling dark again. Severus had a look of _listening_ , and Harry had to acknowledge that it was likely the shift in the light represented the changes in his feelings.  
  
 _But I still don’t know what they mean_ , he thought almost triumphantly.  
  
He dug at the flame with his mind anyway, determined to prove that he had done all he could and still been baffled. And then Severus and Draco would get exasperated with him and upset that he wasn’t perfect, which was uncomfortable territory and would hurt, but was at least familiar.   
  
The flame turned over, and a pulse of knowledge traveled through Harry. The darkness represented the darker emotions, the light colors the lighter ones. Rapid changes like this one indicated a leaping through emotions so swift that Severus would probably not be able to speak them all aloud.  
  
And that very pale blue in the center of the flame was wonder, and bliss.  
  
Harry, reeling under the knowledge, dazed, uncertain, turned his attention to the gold-green flame that was Draco’s. The sour taste that went with it changed to sweetness in his mouth, and the flame curled in on itself and stopped moving quite as much. In contrast to Severus, Harry learned as he stared at it, the stillness was Draco’s sign of joy. Rapid movements for _him_ would betray agitation or anger.  
  
Harry was gasping, shaking with the force of the revelations, but he dug at Draco’s flame as he had at Severus’s, determined to get all the nasty surprises out in the open and over with. Somewhere under there had to be the suppressed hatred and anger and pain from their years of conflict with each other, the same emotions that had made Draco scream at him.  
  
He had the distinct impression of tearing through some lacy dam, probably his own stubbornness, that had held back a powerful wave. With hardly a warning rumble, the water fell down on top of him and drowned him in the actual feelings that Draco and Severus were experiencing as they thought of him and the bonds rushed through them, instead of only knowledge of those feelings.  
  
Wonder. Bliss. Joy. Impatience—that was Draco—for there to be something more, for the bonds to be open like this all the time. Patience—that was Severus, and Harry could feel the patience in his own heart like a boulder anchoring him to a streambed so the water wouldn’t sweep him away—that said they could wait for Harry, because this was new to him.   
  
A _wanting_ that had teeth in it, and made the bonds ache with power and promise, and which Harry could not stand.  
  
He slammed the bonds shut, wrenching himself away from an expansion of his mind and spirit that he quickly suspected could become addictive. He had to think about _something_ else besides the bonds, he reminded himself, arm over his eyes. He had to think about politics, and the political party that it seemed they were going to build with Swanfair, and the best way to keep his bondmates safe.  
  
Perhaps the need to feel everything at once would calm eventually, the way it seemed to have for Draco and Severus when it came to their experiencing of his emotions, and he would be able to think about something else even with the bonds open.  
  
But Harry didn’t dare risk it. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t—he trusted that they didn’t want to hurt him now, but he didn’t think he could face the rest of what they demanded from him.  
  
He lowered his arm from his face and did his best to look at Severus with a stoic and calm expression. From the keen glint in Severus’s eyes, he wasn’t fooled. Of course he wasn’t, Harry remembered a moment later. The bond that fed _his_ emotions to his bondmates was still open and flowing.  
  
But what mattered, Harry told himself in an effort to keep his mind off certain _other_ revelations, was that Severus was a much better person than he had ever known he was, and it had taken him an immense effort to be this open. Harry owed him some thanks for that.  
  
“I—thank you,” he said, in a voice so low that Severus leaned forwards to hear him. “You didn’t have to do this, you didn’t have to try to reassure me, but you did. You could have gone away and been content with the emotions you got from me, but you didn’t want to do that. I didn’t know before now how much of a hero you were.”  
  
Severus’s eyes slid away from his. Harry at once sat up and reached for him. _Oh, no you don’t. If I have to face this, so do you_.  
  
*  
  
Severus had been larger than himself for a moment, part of a flowing being that could raise boundaries to separate out parts of itself—it could think his thoughts, or Harry’s, or Draco’s, in privacy—and also act together. He was one _and_ joined. It was like being part of a world, surrounded by it, dependent on it, but perfectly capable of taking actions that the rest of the world didn’t agree with.  
  
For the first time, he had grasped what love meant.  
  
Now, the being was gone, and Severus understood enough of Harry’s terror to know that it wouldn’t come back at any time soon. His words were the next best thing, but Severus didn’t know that he could look at Harry for long without his hunger for the bonds showing. So he looked away.  
  
Then Harry seized his chin and turned his face back.  
  
Harry’s eyes were better than the bond, fiery and pleading, uncertain and daring, and a brilliant green that the bond would never manage to shine even in his imagination. Harry repeated, “You’re a hero,” and his words drifted and broke like mist around the stare of his eyes. Severus caught his breath, beginning to understand that there might be connections and compensations without the bonds being fully open.  
  
“I’m sorry I can’t give you everything you want,” Harry said, his voice taut with misery. “But I still need to say thank you.”  
  
“Tell me, Harry,” Severus breathed. He wouldn’t have said this normally, but he was high, drifting, separated by snowflakes of wonder and memory from consideration of the consequences. “Do you recoil from us because of repulsion or because of fear? You have never had a relationship like this. Is that it? Is it the only reason that you fled from us wanting you?”  
  
Harry said nothing and held still, but all the bond burned with clear fire, and Severus understood. Yes, that was it. Harry was frightened of what would happen if he opened the bonds and kept them open, whether it would burn him up.  
  
Severus leaned forwards, his eyes locked to Harry’s. Harry didn’t move, but his forehead, unmarred by the scar now, wrinkled, as if he didn’t know what would happen next.  
  
Severus’s lips brushed Harry’s. Harry lifted his head as if to meet a challenge, his forehead still wrinkled, his lips firm and unyielding. His shoulders were shaking with the effort to control his fear.  
  
But he didn’t back away, and the bond did not tighten with horror the way it would if he found kissing a man hateful.  
  
“That is the only answer I wanted or needed for now,” Severus murmured, pulling back. “I will bring you a pain-easing potion.”  
  
He left the room, softly shutting the door behind him. Harry stared into the distance at the wall, his face dazed, and didn’t look around as he left.  
  
He met Draco on the stairs, his eyes wide and his pupils blown, looking as dazed as Harry.  
  
“Is he going to forgive me?” Draco demanded, his words rushing and tripping over each other. “Will he open the bonds again? _Did_ he open them for a good reason in the first place? Do you think he’ll want us someday? Did he kiss you back?”  
  
Severus, unable at the moment to scold him for his part in the row, bent down and pressed his lips to Draco’s. Draco calmed and flicked his tongue out to deposit a secondary and smaller kiss on Severus’s mouth.  
  
It was a fitting gesture, Severus thought, as if Harry were kissing Draco at the same time, as if he had brought the taste of Harry’s mouth to Draco, though Harry had never parted his lips so that Severus could get a proper taste.  
  
“The answer to all your questions,” Severus whispered when he lifted his head, patience and peace and calm flowing through him, “and to many others that we haven’t yet asked, is _yes_.”


	13. Chapter 13

  
The bond sat in the forefront of Harry’s thoughts like a boulder and wouldn’t let him ignore it. It was pick the stupid thing up or go around it.  
  
 _And exactly how is the bond stupid_? Harry found himself thinking in Severus’s voice. _You have hardly been able to put it to any intelligence test._  
  
Harry snorted and then sighed. He wondered for a moment whether Severus and Draco would be able to feel what he was doing, but pushed the worry away. First of all, he knew—he _had_ to know—that their default state wasn’t one of constantly seeking to hurt him with his emotions, or he wouldn’t be able to live with this at all.  
  
Second, they could feel individual emotions, but they couldn’t read his thoughts, and so they weren’t necessarily going to know why he was feeling bored or hungry or angry. Let them think whatever they wanted. For the moment, Harry would make the reasonable assumption that they weren’t about to intrude, not after the way that Severus had left yesterday.   
  
So Harry made himself face the bond, and frown at it, and think about it.   
  
He was tired of acting the way he had. He’d either been ignoring the bond entirely since the beginning, or hauling on it like a lifeline, or feeling it draped around his shoulders like a chain. He didn’t want to anymore.  
  
He focused on that and hammered the words into his brain: _he didn’t want to anymore._   
  
This bond was something he would have to live with for the rest of his life. He could act like a pouting, whinging child every time he got reminded of its existence, or he could face it here and now and decide what he wanted from it.  
  
 _I want to have a good relationship with my bondmates. I want to trust them. I want to feel relaxed around them. I want to feel friendship for them, and get friendship from them_.  
  
And not something more? The question wasn’t quite in Draco’s voice, but Harry had the feeling that it would have been if he’d felt like admitting Draco’s voice into his brain at the moment.  
  
Harry clenched his hands behind his head. The memory of the immense wanting he’d felt with the bonds open all the way chafed at him, suggesting some impossible curling, colorful dream that broke apart into mere light when he woke up. He didn’t know how to answer the question, because he wanted to give his bondmates what they needed, but he was still cautious about that emotion, and how it might take over his life.  
  
His sheer fear told him something else, and he edged up on this thought like someone creeping past the boulder.   
  
_I want to live my own life, too. I don’t want the bond to consume me. Just like I wanted Draco to have his interests in Potions and Dark Arts, and Severus to have an interest in brewing so they didn’t just focus on me, I don’t want to simply focus on them, either. I want to be able to be selfish sometimes. I want to be able to not have them in my bed if I decide I don’t want to. I want to be able to refuse some of their demands. I want to be independent. If I wasn’t going to serve the Ministry blindly, why in the world should I serve the bond blindly?_  
  
He felt a faint guilt at the thought, but he struggled to banish it. Hadn’t he told Huxley that he wanted his own life? Hadn’t he said that he’d made enough sacrifices, and the wizarding world could just give him up as its hero?  
  
He didn’t have to make _extraordinary_ sacrifices because of the bond, either. Just the ordinary, everyday compromises that everyone needed to make when they were living with other people. He played chess with Ron even though he knew he would always lose. He listened to Hermione when she lectured and tried not to show his boredom too obviously. He wanted to keep seeing the Weasleys even though it would be awkward to be in the same room with Ginny. He met those demands without thinking about them, without resenting them or wanting to include them in the list of sacrifices that he rejected, because Ron and Hermione and the Weasleys were his friends.  
  
 _I can do the same thing with Draco and Severus—when I need to. But I don’t need to give everything up for them any more than they need to give up everything for me.  
  
I can have that normal life that I used to talk about. If I want it. If I’m willing to fight for it instead of lie back and whine that it should have happened to me instead of what_ did _happen. Some things aren’t fair, and some things nobody has a cure for._  
  
Harry sucked in enough air that he felt as if he were about to float off the bed, and then let it out again. When he opened his eyes, he felt good enough to smile cautiously at the ceiling.  
  
 _If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s fight._   
  
He would show Draco and Severus that they didn’t have to spend the rest of their lives laboring to heal him or give him potions or feel their way among jagged psychological wounds.  
  
 _After all, they probably have other things that they’d like to do sometimes._   
  
*  
  
Draco stuck his head cautiously into the sitting room where Harry had been sitting with Granger for the last half-hour. Granger had just left. Harry was leaning back on the couch with one arm around his stomach. Draco wondered if that was a good sign or not.   
  
Not much pain was flowing through the bond, and Harry hadn’t done something stupid like sit on a hard chair or try not to hold his stomach. Therefore, Draco decided cautiously that this was a good sign.  
  
“Come in, Draco.”  
  
Draco jumped, and wondered for a moment how Harry could know it was him and not Severus when he didn’t have the bonds open the other way. Then he remembered that there was such a thing as recognizing someone’s footsteps or breathing, and cleared his throat to relieve his embarrassment as he entered the sitting room.  
  
Harry showed no sign of rising from the couch, so Draco walked around in front of him. Harry looked at him evenly. Draco stared back a little while and then dropped his eyes. The apologies he had practiced in his mind would probably sound stupid when he tried to speak them aloud, so he didn’t try.   
  
“Severus thinks you got angry at me because you’re still angry about things that happened at Hogwarts,” Harry said suddenly. “Like me winning all those Quidditch matches between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Is that true?”  
  
Draco had to stare at him then, because that was just too ridiculous. “What does he know about it? Of course not! I was angry at you because I could see you getting weaker and weaker while Swanfair was here, and it was hard to keep my temper under control but I _had_ to because she couldn’t see us arguing, and then everything just burst out at once when she left. It wouldn’t have if you went to bed and took the bloody potions like you were _supposed_ to.”  
  
“Ah,” Harry said. “So _that’s_ why you kept gaping and sighing and making other noises while she was here.”  
  
“I did _not_!” Draco knew that his pretense of calm and stoicism in front of Swanfair yesterday had not been one of his best performances, but he hadn’t done so badly as all that.  
  
“Yes, you did,” Harry said mercilessly. “I think you were far too obvious for someone with all the experience that you keep telling me Swanfair has. So the next time we see her, we should present a united front, and then maybe she won’t think that you’re completely hopeless.”  
  
Draco spluttered, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Harry took advantage of his silence to lean forwards and pin him with a stare that was absolutely _not fair_ , because he must have picked it up from Severus.  
  
“I want to show her that we’re a force for strength,” Harry said. “All three of us, not just me. I want you and Severus involved in this political party we’ll be making from the beginning. That means that you shouldn’t be angry at me and letting the anger out early. I’m going to heal as fast as I can now, and lie down when I need to, and take potions when I need to. In return, I expect you to stop acting stupid.”  
  
Draco stared at him with his mouth open. Harry raised one eyebrow.  
  
“I sent Hermione away because I was starting to feel tired. I’m going to go rest now, the way that you and Severus were telling me I should have all along. I want you to help me up the stairs, or I’ll fall over before I get to my bedroom.” And he commandingly extended one arm.  
  
Draco did it out of sheer astonishment. Harry leaned on him heavily, and panted, so Draco had to pay close attention to his feet and his weight and not tripping as they hop-walked up the stairs. By the time they got to Harry’s room, he felt as exhausted as he could feel Harry did, through the bond, though some of that was probably reflected exhaustion. Harry lay down in the middle of the bed and yawned, then commanded Draco to fluff his pillows and help him drag the blankets over himself. Draco did, still without the words he needed to say what he thought of this.   
  
_Probably because I don’t really know what I think of this._  
  
He stepped back and blinked at Harry. Harry gave him a sweet smile and closed his eyes, sighing a little.  
  
“Could you tell Severus that I need the pain potion that’s green and smells like mint?” he murmured. Draco opened his mouth to say that Harry probably only wanted that one because it tasted the best, but Harry went on, “He said that it was best for the dull, throbbing, aching pains like the ones I have now, and they’re low in my stomach, which the potion is also good for.”  
  
 _Amazing. He did listen_. Draco told himself not to be petty when he had the thought, but he did wonder when Harry’s listening had started. Severus had given that potion, the Emerald Healer, to Harry yesterday, and he would have given his standard speech about the potion’s purpose and dangers, so Harry could have heard then.  
  
“There,” Harry said, when Draco started moving towards the door. “I forgive you now, because you _do_ want to help me.” The bond shook and shivered with a silvery sheen like light on aspen leaves. Draco knew Harry would be smiling if he looked over his shoulder, but he didn’t see the need to do that right now. “As long as you think about our bargain that you don’t act stupid in front of Swanfair again.”  
  
As much as Draco wanted to say something, it was difficult to disagree. He _had_ acted stupid in front of Swanfair—Severus had taken him to task about that after the enchantment from the bond being open began to wear off—and he had done something to Harry that he was sorry for. Helping Harry, which he wanted to do anyway and which showed that Harry had acquired something resembling common sense, was much better than stammering out one of the awkward apologies that he had practiced.  
  
He shut the door quietly behind him, and the light shimmering through the bond turned to the soft pink color of approval. Draco went down the stairs carefully, due to all the new thoughts whirling through his head.  
  
*  
  
Granger had obviously given Harry some good ideas. He came down to discuss them with Severus after he’d spent some time resting in bed from a dose of the Emerald Healer. Severus had a notion that he would when the bond’s firefly dreams coalesced into glittering balls of light and started to circle each other, and began to brew a pot of tea. By the time Harry felt his way cautiously down the stairs, the tea was ready and Draco had made himself scarce, on Severus’s orders. Harry and Draco had had their confrontation alone that morning. Severus thought it was rather important to see how Harry handled _him_ when they were alone.  
  
Harry paused in the entrance to the kitchen, his head lifted like a deer scenting danger. “Where’s Draco?” he asked.  
  
“Learning how to make a potion he almost destroyed the lab with last week,” Severus said, which happened to be the truth. He pulled out a chair for Harry, and waited to see what would happen next.  
  
Harry looked thoughtfully back and forth between the chair and Severus. Then he nodded and sat down, pulling himself in closer to the table. He didn’t even sniff the tea for a medicinal potion before he drank it.  
  
“Hermione told me that Swanfair has a reputation for survival at all times, and victory most of the time,” Harry began. “She thinks it’s worthwhile to ally with her, as long as we watch out for mind-controlling spells and potions like milder version of the Imperius Curse. That’s apparently what she uses to make some of her allies do what she wants.”  
  
Severus snorted at the thought of someone trying to use such magic on a triad with a Potions master and Legilimens in it, as well as someone with a natural resistance to the Imperius Curse. Of course, the second part wasn’t very widespread knowledge, so Swanfair might try anyway. “We will watch for that,” he reassured Harry.  
  
“Good.” Harry sipped at the tea again. “Swanfair told us the truth yesterday, so far as it went. She’s pretty nakedly interested in power. So long as we let her have a hefty part in the politics and keep her from using Dark Arts on other people or us, then Hermione thinks we can trust her. The way you would trust a dangerous dog on a chain, to quote Hermione.”  
  
“Yes, I am familiar with the type.” Severus raised an eyebrow. “Did she have time to suggest any particular strategies?”  
  
“Yeah.” Harry smiled grimly. “Quite the battle’s been going on the last few days, I reckon, with a lot of the people in Hogsmeade suddenly discovering their courage. They’re deluging the Minister with requests that Huxley be arrested. And once Skeeter reported my speech—she was probably nearby in the form of a beetle when I made it—then other people started becoming sympathetic to us, too. Most of them really _didn’t_ know that she’d tried to murder me.”  
  
“Or so it seems,” Severus had to point out.  
  
Harry’s shrug said that he was uninterested in the distinction. “So Hermione suggested that I make an official announcement thanking everyone for their support and also calling for Huxley’s arrest.”  
  
Severus went still. He could see the reason behind Granger’s thinking. Harry would give the public what they wanted and intensify his image as someone unjustly persecuted who nevertheless asked only for the legal remedy that he deserved.  
  
On the other hand, nothing was likelier to make an enemy of Shacklebolt, who seemed so reluctant to arrest Huxley.  
  
“Do you believe that Shacklebolt will accept this?” he asked. “The spell I put on him to give us some peace will not stand up to a determined assault on it, and forcing him to take notice of a demand for Huxley’s arrest is such an assault.”  
  
“I don’t care,” Harry said abruptly, and the bond flexed in a jagged way that told Severus this was something he had argued with himself over more than once. “I don’t care as much as I did about not hurting him or making him an enemy. He decided _I_ was an enemy even though I’d done nothing, just because he doesn’t like you. I think it would be best if I show him that I’m not afraid of him.”  
  
Severus touched the tips of his fingers together and thought about that. It was the straightforward tactic that a Gryffindor would favor. It was political, the kind of measure that Swanfair would advise them to take. And if Granger was right about the public’s temper concerning Harry at the moment, then it was probably the best thing they could do to take advantage of that temper.   
  
Severus still wanted an extra assurance.  
  
“There is a potion I can brew that will give the Minister something else to think about,” he said. “It involves no illegal ingredients or Dark Arts in the brewing. Will you permit me to prepare it?”  
  
Harry lifted his head in surprise, as though someone had reached out and flicked their knuckles against the back of his skull. Severus concealed his smirk with an effort and watched in pleasure. Asking for permission and abiding by a negative answer—as he was willing to do if Harry refused—ought to reassure Harry that he still had a measure of control over the bond.  
  
“What does it do?” Harry asked warily, after he had considered Severus from several angles and seemed to see nothing false in what he was promising.  
  
“It gives the drinker a large stomach ulcer,” Severus answered promptly, “one that fluctuates. It responds to magical Healing some of the time, and at others will not trouble the carrier at all. But it flares up irregularly and with great pain, which means the drinker is…often distracted.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened a little. “You really don’t like Kingsley, do you?”  
  
“Given that he tried to unpick the bond and endangered us all in multiple other ways?” Severus heard his voice grow brittle, the way it often did when he was struggling to control his emotions. “No. I do not. And given that he permitted a Gut Chewing Curse to be used on you, I thought an ulcer in the stomach would be just repayment.”  
  
Harry gnawed his lip fiercely. “But if it flares up every time he pays attention to us, then he’s sure to notice.”  
  
Severus kept his voice patient with an effort. If there was anything he still wanted to change in Harry, it would be to give him a keenness and length of attention that Draco had always had. “That is why it will flare up on an irregular schedule. He may well suspect where it came from, but he could never prove it. The ulcer looks like a naturally caused one to any spells.”  
  
Harry nodded. “All right,” he said. “I do want to punish him. I can’t help that.” He glared at Severus a moment later, as though he assumed Severus would have a problem with this. The bond had turned throbbing and dark like an old wound.  
  
“So do I,” Severus said, and glanced towards the door of the lab. “And so does Draco. The potion he is working on right now is similar to the one I will brew for Shacklebolt. He will be delighted to help with it—”  
  
A small explosion shook the house, and greasy-looking smoke rolled out from beneath the door of the potions lab. Harry blinked.   
  
“As soon as he manages to master this one,” Severus finished with a sigh, and then faced Harry. “In the meantime, you make the public announcement and tell us when you want us to appear in public beside you. Draco and I will work on the potion and on a way to make sure that Shacklebolt, and no one else, drinks it.”  
  
Harry gave him a shark’s grin and stood up. “Good enough.” He hesitated, then added, “I think I need more of the potion that tastes like dirty socks.”  
  
It was as close as he would come at the moment to an admission that he still felt some pain, and Severus was wise enough not to push for more. He nodded. “The Stomach Relaxer,” he said. “I shall fetch it.”  
  
Harry smiled at him suddenly, and the bond turned shimmering and silvery-green, the way it had earlier when Harry and Draco had had their “talk.” “Thank you,” he said. “I—” Then he seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say, and shrugged. “Thank you.”  
  
Severus nodded again. He could feel the leap of his own impatience, wanting to push, wanting to know what else Harry would have said if he felt absolutely free, but he also felt a contrary desire: one to leave Harry to himself, give him his freedom to be silent and avoid confrontations, and see what would happen.  
  
 _This bond has proceeded by confrontations rather than otherwise so far, like forcing a plant to bloom outside its natural season. I will enjoy seeing what it produces when left to flower on its own._  
  
*  
  
“Thank you, Headmistress,” Harry said, with a little nod to McGonagall.  
  
“Hogwarts has been your home,” McGonagall said, smiling at him with a force that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “And it is not far from your home as it stands now. How could I do otherwise than volunteer it?”  
  
Harry smiled at her, because by now he had plenty of experience of things that people could do _other_ than oblige him, and turned to face the crowd of reporters.  
  
They were massed on the grounds of Hogwarts around the lake, buzzing with excitement. Skeeter was there, of course, but Harry had also asked Hermione for a list of names and addresses for as many reporters as she could find, and he’d written thirty or so owls himself. And then the ones he hadn’t invited would have heard from the ones who did, so by now there was a large number.  
  
Harry strode towards them, checking himself cautiously as he went for some sign of pain in his gut. But it was a fortnight now since Huxley had cursed him, and Severus and Draco were both right about how much better a wound like that healed with regular rest and potions. What made him more nervous than anything else at the moment was the fact that they were back at the house in Hogsmeade and he was here by himself.  
  
 _Stop it_ , he told himself as he came to a stop about a hundred feet from the reporters and touched his wand to his throat to cast the _Sonorus_ Charm. _You know by now that you would feel it if anything happened to them. And you do need to start appearing on your own some of the time, so that they don’t think you’re hiding behind Severus and Draco._  
  
He lifted his head and surveyed the crowd, keeping his expression aloof and his eyes distant. The chatter gradually quieted, and then Harry had everyone staring at him expectantly, quills poised above parchment.  
  
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I wished to make a public statement about what has happened to me and the outrageous way in which the Ministry has ignored it.”  
  
 _That_ caused an immediate scramble of the quills. Harry heard some people trying to shout questions from the back, but the more experienced ones in front were waiting breathlessly for more words from his mouth. Harry serenely ignored the questions, therefore, and went on with his announcement.  
  
“Two weeks ago, I was attacked in Hogsmeade, in front of my own home, by a witch known as Griselda Huxley,” he said. A few people gasped, and he nodded. “Yes, I thought you would be familiar with her. I know she’s a war heroine, and that kept me from coming forwards. I hoped there would be a way to reconcile with her, to keep my admiration for her actions in the forefront of my mind rather than my fury and frustration.”  
  
That was a lie, of course, since he’d had no idea who Huxley was when she first attacked him and no reason to think that she wouldn’t be arrested right away, but the reporters ate it up. Harry rubbed at his face with one hand and wondered when lying had become so easy. Of course, the Auror training he’d received at keeping his face stern during interrogations might have helped. An expression of sternness wasn’t so far from an expression of sadness.  
  
“She used the Gut Chewing Curse on me.” Harry pulled his shirt up dramatically so that he could show the red scar curling across his skin. It had been Draco’s idea to hold off on healing the scar for a time, so that he could make a statement like this. From the way some reporters practically tripped over themselves dragging out cameras, Harry thought that Draco had more than redeemed himself for anything stupid he might have done during the interview with Swanfair. “A week ago, she came to my home and tried to attack the wards again. She accused me of being in conspiracy with Voldemort.”  
  
Given how half the crowd still flinched at the name, Harry knew that would make an impact. He spent a moment studying them, the cloud of dark robes against the silver snow, creating his own mental picture.  
  
“The Minister has refused to arrest her,” Harry said. “I am here to plead that he do so. She may be a heroine, but Huxley is dangerous. She will attack not only people the Ministry has pardoned but also those whose only crime was using accidental magic to save the world.”  
  
He did his very best to look pathetic and strong at the same time, which Hermione had advised him he should do. He didn’t know if it worked, but more cameras snapped pictures.  
  
“Perhaps Huxley considers her hatred of me justified,” Harry continued softly, throwing as much sadness into his voice as he could. “But I don’t think it is, and I want to be able to live in peace, free of persecution. Since I’ve been stripped of my career and my childhood and my friendship with the Minister, is that so much to ask?” This time he tried for wistful, and again the cameras flashed.  
  
He took a few questions then, but only the ones that he could answer easily, such as why it had taken him so long to heal of the Gut Chewing Curse and how he felt knowing Huxley was still free. It was easy enough to pretend that he didn’t hear the ones that only wanted to stir up political trouble, since everyone was shouting their questions at once.  
  
After five minutes of that, Harry raised one hand and turned back in the direction of Hogwarts. The reporters who tried to rush after him and ask something else slammed into the invisible barrier that McGonagall had altered the wards yesterday to raise. It wouldn’t hurt them, she’d told Harry, but it would give them a good surprise, and reporters should have those every so often.  
  
“I think that went well,” said McGonagall, who looked full of sympathetic outrage when Harry reached her. “I assume you’re going to wish to return home, Mr. Potter?”  
  
Harry yawned and nodded. He no longer tired as easily as he did when he was taking more than three pain potions a day, but he didn’t want to push it. For the sake of his healing, and the image he had presented to the reporters of someone who had mostly recovered from Huxley’s curse—  
  
And for the sake of Draco and Severus, because he knew they would worry over him.  
  
A white owl soared down from the sky and landed on his arm. Harry winced a little as the claws dug into him, but he saw the Swanfair seal on the letter, and thought it was better to deal with it now than later. Swanfair had agreed to the tactic of making the public statement when Harry warned her about it; that didn’t mean she was going to accept it in complete quiet.  
  
The letter said, _I am impressed by your control of your face and voice. I thought I was dealing with a politically naïve teenager, and I would imagine that Minister Shacklebolt has considered such a thing as well. Perhaps having you as leader of our political party—in truth, and not as a figurehead—will be a wise decision to make after all._  
  
Harry refused to give Swanfair the satisfaction of looking around, though he knew she must have been nearby to see his expressions and then to send him the owl so promptly. He tucked the letter in his robe and gave the hovering McGonagall a wry smile. “Many people have opinions,” he said. He didn’t want to reveal the alliance with Swanfair yet, since he knew McGonagall had views about people who used Dark Arts.  
  
“Yes, they do.” McGonagall nodded briskly. “And one of mine is that you should have an escort home.” She blurred, and a moment later a tabby cat was sitting at Harry’s feet, staring up at him with her tail twitching.  
  
Harry thought about arguing, but shook his head. McGonagall had felt tormented that she couldn’t do more to help him during the Horcrux hunt, he knew, and then hurt when he hadn’t returned for his NEWTS. Besides, people were less likely to think a cat was a threat, which meant they would have the advantage of surprise if someone attacked him on the way home.  
  
 _As I must be prepared for._  
  
The tabby meowed at him, and Harry realized she had already started trotting in the direction of Hogsmeade. He followed, glad when they reached the front door without incident.  
  
*  
  
“Bloody potion!” Draco leaped back from the vial as it foamed over again, bright silver curls of liquid splattering on Severus’s table and dissolving part of the wood. Draco aimed his wand to try to clean it up, and then the vial exploded, scattering glass and potion in every direction. At least his raised wand meant that he could lift a shield without much trouble. He was steadily cursing as he did it.  
  
“Such language, Draco.”  
  
Draco whipped around to see Severus standing in the doorway of the potions lab behind him. His anger was still sharp and fresh enough that he snapped back instead of cowering before Severus’s sarcasm the way he would ordinarily have when he messed up a potion this badly. “I’ve tried, and tried, and _tried_! The last two times, it’s been perfect but it foams over when I transfer it from the cauldron to the vial! And I don’t know why, and I’ve looked through the books, and—”  
  
Severus at once shut the door behind him, strode across the room, and picked up the book with the original potions recipe, which Draco hadn’t looked at since he started to brew. Draco glared at his back. “I know every single line in there,” he called. “I’ve memorized the damn thing.”  
  
“Including,” Severus asked, not looking up from the book, “that the potion will foam over when placed in contact with glass?”  
  
Draco tried not to scream. It wasn’t the potion’s fault after all, it was his, and it was a simple, silly, childish mistake that anyone could have made. But he wasn’t just anyone, and he had been studying potions too long to let something like this happen to him. He collapsed onto a chair Severus had standing ready for when potions took hours to brew and had to be watched carefully, his head in his hands.  
  
“Draco.” Severus’s voice was gentle this time, though Draco knew many people who did not know him would still have called it harsh. It had to do with a rounding of the words, a lowering of the tone, rather than any single inflection. Severus’s hand slid around the back of his neck, fingers feathering wide as he caressed Draco’s shoulders. “What frustrates you so much about this? You have completed more difficult potions, and struggled with them before you completed them.”  
  
“I shouldn’t be having this much trouble,” Draco whispered, and rubbed his face with his hands. “Ten days on the same potion. It’s madness.”  
  
“It is not,” Severus said calmly. “It is merely that you have let your desire to finish run ahead of your desire to do _well_. Or you have come to think that the brilliance of your work depends on speed and no other consideration. Which is it?”  
  
Draco held his breath so that he could force himself to concentrate on something other than his intense frustration. It was a tactic Severus had taught him as they sat in prison awaiting their trials as Death Eaters. It worked this time, too, and he began to consider the difficult question, which also wasn’t unprecedented; Severus had used logical puzzles to keep him distracted from consideration of their fate.  
  
“I’ve equated brilliance with speed,” he said at last.  
  
Severus’s hand did not move away from his soft stroking of Draco’s neck, though his voice became harder. “And why?”  
  
“Because—” Draco swallowed, but the object of his resentment was out of the house, making a speech in front of reporters, so Draco thought he could safely confess. “Because I wanted to impress Harry.”  
  
“Tell me why.” Severus’s voice was sharper still. His fingernails dug into Draco’s skin.  
  
“Because there are so many things he’s better at than me.” Draco didn’t care if he sounded like he was whinging; it was worth it to purge these silent, festering wounds at last. “And I don’t think he’s completely forgiven me for arguing with him. I wanted—I wanted him to look at me with admiration again, the way he did when I told him that I was going to combine Potions and Dark Arts. I want that.” His voice dropped, and he couldn’t look Severus in the eye on the last words. “I want him.”  
  
“So do I,” Severus said. “But we shall simply have to wait, that is all. And if he never comes to us—”  
  
“He _has_ to!” Draco flung his head back and stared at Severus, not comprehending how he could be this quiet about it. “Didn’t you feel what it was like when the bonds were fully open? Do you really want to never feel that again?”  
  
Severus raised both his eyebrows, a sharp remonstrance with him. “That does not require him to fall in love with us,” he said. “There is no sexual compulsion to the bond.”  
  
“But I want him to.” Draco looked away and knew he was pouting, but he couldn’t help it, could he? Harry and Severus had been quietly friendly for the last week, exactly as if Severus had never stolen a kiss from him. Meanwhile, Draco had been giving Harry as many potions and speaking as many gentle words and advising him as much about the politics, but he still got fewer smiles and cooler nods.  
  
Severus gripped his shoulders but disdained to grip his chin, so Draco eventually had to face him on his own. When he did, he caught his breath. Severus’s eyes were soft.  
  
“You have someone here who admires you,” Severus murmured. “Someone who knows your ability to endure, to live through experiences that would have crushed many far older than you.” He kissed Draco’s forehead, and his lips left a thin, searing band above Draco’s eyebrow. “Someone who knows your capabilities and celebrates them, as Harry does not yet have the knowledge to do.” He traced a finger down the center of Draco’s palm, the fingernail scraping a red line that slowly closed over again. “Someone who set you this potion in part as a problem to figure out, so that you would acknowledge yourself again instead of concentrating so fiercely on impressing Harry, because _you_ also are valuable.”  
  
Draco lifted his head, feeling as if he drowned in fire, and Severus’s lips met his in a fierce kiss, fierce enough that Draco could let everything from the past week except those most recent words drain out of his head.  
  
“Do not lose yourself in desire,” Severus whispered into his ear, “either for Harry, or for me, or for an impossible dream. I have seen far too many who could not be content except with the achievement of ambitions that did not depend on themselves, but on the actions of others or the fortunes of an indifferent world. You are what you are, Draco, and most of what you are is beautiful. Rejoice in that.”  
  
His fingers slid down Draco’s chest and began to unbutton his robes. Draco opened his mouth to moan, and Severus’s mouth was already there again.  
  
Draco needed to burn, and so he gave himself up to the warmth. He barely opened his eyes as Severus pulled him up the stairs to their bedroom, but concentrated on the taste of Severus’s tongue in his mouth and the prickle of fingers up and down his sternum. When he lay sweating and naked on their bed, he tried his best to absorb those fingers and that tongue through his skin.  
  
Now the tongue licked up his shoulder. Now the fingers curled around his cock and weighed it thoughtfully before moving away, paying absolutely no attention to Draco’s cry of protest. Draco thought about opening his eyes and demanding more force where he most wanted it, but that would mean clearing his head of the blinding warmth and thinking for himself, so he didn’t.  
  
Now the tongue was on his elbow, and then behind his knee, and now it curled around his right big toe. Draco shivered in delight, never knowing where the touch would come next, and the flames leaped and soared through him.  
  
Severus’s fingers prepared him. Severus’s fingers also touched his quivering stomach, dipped into his navel, and ran up and down the length of his erection. Draco didn’t know which hand was which. He only knew that he was moaning impatiently, small puffs of hot air, and thrusting his arse backwards by the time Severus finally consented to slide into him.  
  
 _Finally_. That was warm enough, and full enough, and Draco could think of the thorough fuck he was receiving and nothing else.  
  
His orgasm took the fire from him, sticky pulses that seemed to scald as they landed on his stomach. Severus followed and then rolled to the bed beside him, as if he knew instinctively that Draco would be too hot if he lay on top. This time, his fingers tracing Draco’s cheekbone felt wonderfully cool.  
  
Draco opened his eyes at last, burned through, purified, and offered Severus a sleepy smile that Severus returned with an intent gaze. Draco held his chuckle inside. Severus was not about to let him fall asleep until he knew whether Draco had understood that there were people who really did value him for himself.  
  
 _Or a person_. And at the moment, Draco could not resent that there weren’t more, or that Harry might not ever be one of them. Having one was brilliant, and more than he had thought he would achieve at any time during the last three years.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, I’ll finish the potion, and I’ll take as long as I need to, and I’ll do it perfectly.”  
  
Severus bent his head and kissed Draco again, from a distance, their lips just brushing each other’s, no tongue. Draco thought dazedly that it was like receiving a kiss in the ashes of a wildfire, but far better-tasting than ashes.  
  
That didn’t make much sense, but Draco thought he was allowed not to make sense right now. He dared _Granger_ to make sense after such a thorough fucking.  
  
That brought up images he didn’t want to contemplate. It was much easier to tuck himself around Severus, though far enough from him that air could still slide freely between their bodies, and close his eyes.   
  
For the first time in several years, he dreamt one of those dreams that had been so common when he was a child: a dream of his own achievements, of the brilliant things he would do as soon as he had a chance, and of eyes looking at him admiringly. And none of the eyes was particularly green.  
  
*  
  
“Severus? Draco?”  
  
Harry blinked and pulled his head out of the potions lab, which looked as though a storm had whirled through it. That worried him—when was the last time Severus had left the lab like that without cleaning it up?—but he knew he would have felt any danger to them through the bond. He wandered upstairs, where the marks of some heels dragged along the carpet told him they might have gone.  
  
The door of their bedroom was firmly shut.  
  
Harry hesitated, and then told himself to respect their privacy and go to his own room. He was tired anyway after his speech, and wanted to rest. There was no reason to intrude on Severus and Draco, especially when they might not be…finished.  
  
Harry wished he understood what he was feeling when he thought about that, other than interest that was incredibly inappropriate.  
  
He stood there, fidgeting from foot to foot in the corridor, and listened intently. He couldn’t hear any sounds, no grunting or slamming, and he couldn’t see any Silencing Charms or privacy wards on the bedroom door. They were probably asleep.  
  
 _In which case you should still leave them alone and give them the chance to rest,_ Hermione would probably insist.  
  
 _I’m just concerned about them_ , Harry thought defensively, and then crept slowly towards their door and opened it without a sound. _Something must have happened. I know that Severus wouldn’t leave that mess lying around without a reason. I just want to make sure that they’re all right._   
  
He couldn’t see anything at first, since his first timid push at the door had opened it only far enough to show a corner of the wall. Harry swallowed, hoped that Severus and Draco hadn’t been paranoid enough to leave a creak in the hinges so that it would warn them of coming enemies, and nudged it the rest of the way open.  
  
Draco lay on his side, his face twisted away from Harry. His hair was tousled so it pointed almost straight backwards, like the tail of a comet, and his legs were sprawled wide. He was completely naked, and he looked innocent with it. Harry caught sight of something white on his hip and jerked his eyes away guiltily. He preferred to listen to the sound of Draco’s soft breathing instead.  
  
Then he looked up further, and realized that Severus lay next to Draco, his chest to Draco’s chest, his arm wrapped around Draco’s shoulder, his head resting on the pillow above Draco’s.  
  
And that his eyes were open and fixed on Harry’s like a watchful lion’s.  
  
Harry stared back, transfixed. Severus was naked as well, of course, but most of him was hidden by Draco. Harry could make out the pallor of his skin, though, and a stripped-down thinness, as though he had been through so many trials that all the weakness and softness had worn away from him and left only muscle. His hair swung around his face, long and dark and cut sharply enough to make what looked like a ragged slash on his skin where it covered his neck. Harry didn’t know whether anyone would ever call Severus beautiful, but he was _interesting_.  
  
And Harry didn’t have the right to think about things like that, since he was not Draco’s or Severus’s lover.  
  
Harry dropped his eyes, uncomfortable now. “Sorry,” he whispered, and backed out of the room, being careful not to look up again. He closed the door softly when he was out, so as not to wake up Draco.  
  
When he retreated to his own bedroom, it was with thoughts and possibilities and memories and sights whirling around his head, which did not help him to fall asleep as quickly as he had thought he might after the speech.  
  
*  
  
Severus let his chin rest on Draco’s shoulder and continued staring at the door where Harry had stood for a moment. His eyes had been wide. Fascinated. Intrigued.  
  
Of course, he had reverted to Gryffindor guilt almost the moment he caught Severus’s eye and not looked hard enough to see that there was no condemnation in the gaze Severus returned, but welcome if he wished to take it.  
  
Still.  
  
 _Almost_ the moment he caught Severus’s eye. He had stood there for a short time after that.  
  
Severus closed his eyes, nestled his nose into Draco’s hair, and smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

  
Draco didn’t let his hand shake when he lifted the ladle full of the bright green potion and carefully placed it into the steel vial. It wanted to, but he didn’t permit it. Severus often said that no Potions master permitted anything to happen in his lab that he did not ordain. Draco was striving to be that hard, that cool, that efficient.  
  
 _You are a wizard, and it is only a potion_ , Severus had said to him more than once. _You ought to be able to keep it from splattering or flying in any direction except the one you want it to go in._   
  
The ladle tipped. The potion poured into the vial. Draco found himself tensing his shoulders automatically, waiting for the sort of explosion that had accompanied all his past attempts to finish the potion, and relaxed them by sheer force of will. He had mastered the brewing process this time, and that meant he ought not to be nervous.  
  
The last drop of green liquid settled into the narrow steel container, and still nothing happened—no explosion, no leaping foam, no other sudden event that he had to raise his shields against.  
  
It had worked.  
  
Draco allowed himself to put down his ladle and adopt a thin, supercilious smile then, the kind he often gave when he was a student in Potions and watched others struggle. _I am adept at this. I can do anything I set my mind to, provided I have sufficient strength and will._  
  
And with the magical strength of his bondmates backing him up, what might he not accomplish?  
  
The door opened behind him. Draco turned around, head canted at the proper arrogant angle to welcome a visitor into his domain.  
  
Severus stood there. His gaze moved from Draco to the steel vial, and then back to the cauldron that sat with the potion quietly, tamely waiting in it. He gave a small nod.  
  
Draco nodded back, a trickle of warmth moving through his body. From a person as reserved as Severus, that nod was as good as a shout of approval, or an O mark on a Potions essay.  
  
*  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Severus stifled the impulse to roll his eyes. Harry was quiet and uncertain in everything today, from the way he came down the stairs to the way he accepted the cup of tea from Severus, with exaggerated care to be sure that their fingers didn’t touch. Severus didn’t think he’d looked up once so far, either. His cheeks were brilliantly red. So was the bond, and the tingles of sharper emotions coming through it were getting quite distracting.  
  
 _Confront him directly. It is not what he will expect, and so he will have no dodge prepared._  
  
“Does seeing Draco and I together repulse you that much?” Severus asked in a normal tone, his eyes on the bowl of porridge that Draco had cooked that morning. Draco was gaining in skill as a Potions master almost as the days had passed, but his cooking still left something to be desired. Severus had picked out two charred lumps already.  
  
Across the table, there was a complicated inhalation of milk and toast. Severus sighed and looked up when he thought Harry had adjusted himself so that he wouldn’t be even _more_ embarrassed by Severus’s stare.  
  
Harry’s eyes were wide, and he was blinking as though someone had hit him on the head. Even as Severus drew breath to ask the question again, though, Harry glared and sat upright and hurled his words as though they were weapons he would use to fend off anything else Severus might say.  
  
“I thought you were perfectly normal-looking! I mean, normal for two men in bed together. I haven’t seen any before.” He sounded as if he were floundering again, but pulled himself together with a physical jerk and forged on. “I wasn’t _repulsed_. But I didn’t have the right to spy on you like that. That’s why I’m embarrassed. Because I opened the door and stared like a little sneak. You deserve more privacy than that. I tried to tell myself that I was concerned because you left the potions lab in such a mess, but—but that’s just an excuse.” By the end, he was mumbling again and staring at the table, but at least the bond had cleared a bit thanks to the indignation that had burned through it.  
  
Severus stirred his spoon through his porridge and glanced at the closed door of the potions lab, where Draco was trying to duplicate his success of the early morning with the actual potion that Severus intended Shacklebolt to take. Perhaps it would have been better if he were here. Severus thought he could be more spontaneously—and believably—open when it came to speaking to Potter about joining them in bed.  
  
On the other hand, that would have meant revealing to Draco that Potter had looked in on them, and Severus did not yet know what Draco would do with that information.  
  
 _I will leave it alone for now. Once again, it must be up to Harry how fast we proceed. At least I know he recoiled from us not because he found us disgusting but because he felt guilt. And that guilt is too familiar an emotion for me to think he will entirely purge it._   
  
“Thank you for the apology,” he said evenly, and moved on. “I noticed that you had received a letter this morning. Who was it from?” He thought he could guess, since anger like an arrow had cut through the bond when the owl came, but he preferred to leave the imparting of information up to Harry as much as he could.  
  
Harry promptly scowled and drove his knife into his toast as if he intended to slice it apart as gillyweed was sliced for the Perpetual Breath Potion. “Kingsley. He wants a ‘private meeting.’ He also presumes to scold me for speaking up in public without his permission. He says that I don’t understand all the consequences of my actions, and I _also_ don’t understand what would happen if he was turned out of office right now.”  
  
“I do wonder if there is a serious hope of that.” Severus ate the last of his porridge thoughtfully. They might be underestimating the support that Harry’s speech had gained them simply because of the articles appearing in multiple papers, but on the other hand, Kingsley might be overestimating the outrage against him. Angry, frightened people did not make the best decisions.  
  
“I don’t think so, not right now.” Harry shook his head. “He’s popular. He was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and he did heroic things during the war, too. And what if he _was_ turned out of office and replaced by someone even worse?” The bond gathered dancing green sparks along the edges, a sign that Harry was wavering.  
  
Severus leaned across the table, making no sound but waiting until the sheer force of his presence compelled Harry to glance up. “You cannot yield,” he said. “He will use that fear to pressure you into reversing your gains, if you are not careful.”  
  
“I know that,” Harry said, and some of the sparks in the bond vanished. “But I still have to worry about it. There’s no way that we could put up a candidate from our party yet if there was an election tomorrow.”  
  
Severus would have liked to choose his words carefully, but the concept they looked at now was too simple for that. “Except you.”  
  
Harry drew his breath in as if he were going to shout. Then his hands clenched on the edges of the table, and he said in a low voice through gritted teeth, “I promised myself that I was going to start thinking more about what I want. And I don’t want to be Minister.”  
  
“Acceptable.” And it was. Severus did not particularly want Harry exposed more than he already was to the danger of assassination, or out of the house for the long periods of time that a Minister’s work would imply. On the other hand, now that the suggestion had been made to him once, Harry was less likely to be taken by surprise when someone else made it, as Swanfair, at least, inevitably would.   
  
_Of course, she would only do so if she thought there was a firm chance of controlling Harry._  
  
Harry watched him for a few more minutes, then grunted and returned to his toast. “I need to talk with Hermione,” he said, when he had finished. “And Draco. Together, they should be able to come up with a political strategy. I’ve made the speech, but I’m not sure what I need to do next.”  
  
“Would you like me to sit in on the meeting as well?” Severus did not know if it was deliberation or forgetfulness that had caused Harry to leave him out.  
  
Harry’s face hardened, and the bond turned a complicated mix of silver-green and yellow that Severus hadn’t seen before. “Not on this one,” he said. “I need to see that Draco can control himself in front of Hermione. If you’re there, of course he will, but that won’t truly test him.”  
  
Severus raised his eyebrows. The tactic sounded like the task he had set Draco with the potion that resembled the ulcer-causing one. He would not have expected Harry to think of it. “As you will.”  
  
He had some reading of his own that he could do in the meantime. There were hints in a few of the books that the bond might change in still more dramatic and unexpected ways now that they had arrived at a seeming balance. Accidental magic bonds strove for optimization. Severus reckoned that many people would say this was optimization, with all three of them friendly to one another and cautiously able to patch up arguments, and two of them lovers.  
  
Severus did not think it was, and so he believed the bond would change further. Reading might help him predict what it would do next.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Severus looked up and blinked. Harry was holding his wrist and looking into his eyes with something uncomfortably close to gratitude. The bond shimmered the pink of approval.  
  
“Thanks for understanding,” Harry added, and then abruptly let go of Severus’s wrist and departed the dining area.  
  
Severus spent a few more moments with his tea, glad for once that Harry had not opened the bond both ways. He did not believe the younger man would find it comfortable to encounter Severus’s purring smugness.  
  
*  
  
Harry kept one eye on Draco and one on Hermione as they took seats in his bedroom, which Harry had chosen mostly because it was far from both the potions lab and the library, the places he expected Severus to be. He had said that he wouldn’t intervene, but why present him with temptation?  
  
Draco sat stiffly on the edge of Harry’s bed, his hands tucked under his knees as if he feared that he might accidentally touch Hermione. Harry told himself he was being uncharitable, but when Draco kept darting Hermione narrow-eyed glances and then looking away again, he was probably also being realistic.   
  
Hermione sat on a chair that Harry had Levitated upstairs and apparently ignored both Draco and the tension between Draco and Harry. She was checking over a long list of names and nodding.   
  
Harry sat down on the bed, too, but an equal distance from both Draco and Hermione, and smiled wryly. He was just as glad that Ron apparently still felt indignant on Ginny’s behalf and so hadn’t come along. He wouldn’t be able to watch three people and three wands, not having three eyes.  
  
“Yes,” Hermione said, looking up. “Out of the thirty reporters you invited to that speech, twenty-five wrote positive articles about you that more or less repeated what you said verbatim. Three were largely neutral, and two hostile.” She leaned forwards, her hands hooked around the edge of the sheaf of parchment. “I think that’s enough support to have a public meeting that anyone who’s curious or sympathetic can attend.”  
  
“Oh, yes, a marvelous idea,” Draco said, with acid in his voice that didn’t sound much changed from Hogwarts, “given that so many people want to kill Harry. Let’s give everyone who wants to a chance.”  
  
Hermione stared at the ceiling and spoke in a deliberately slow voice. “We’d police the gathering, of course. We’d take away everyone’s wands, and use wards that disrupted glamours and curses before they formed—”  
  
“That leaves out someone being ingenious with a potion,” Draco said, his voice soaring slightly, “and Dark Arts that can circumvent wards like that, and the fact that some pure-bloods will think such a gathering in the height of bad taste, so they’re not likely to come even if they support Harry—”  
  
“We’re not asking everyone to support me,” Harry said, deciding he should intervene before Hermione could say something about how little she cared for the taste of pure-bloods. “Did your letter to Millicent Bulstrode ever get a response, Draco?”  
  
Draco shook his head. “Her family has already left the country,” he said. “I could try writing to a few others who were apathetic about the war with the Dark Lord, but given that they were apathetic then, I’m not sure I could persuade them to care about it now.”  
  
“It’s not the war we’re asking them to care about,” Hermione began in a lecturing tone. “We’re asking them to devote a little intelligent thought to the future of the wizarding world—”  
  
“And that future is tied up with the past!” Draco surged to his feet, which surprised Harry. He hadn’t thought Draco would get upset this early in the conversation. “That’s what you’ve never realized, you—”  
  
Harry recognized the direction that would move in very quickly, and cast a Silencing Charm. Draco moved his mouth a few times without any sound coming out, and then glared at Harry. Harry shrugged an apology before he turned around and cast the same spell on Hermione. She went from smug to angry in an instant. Harry wondered if he should tell them how very similar they looked when they glared, and then decided it would be a bad idea.  
  
“I don’t think personal insults are the way to accomplish anything,” Harry said, firmly but quietly. _A fine leader I’ll be if I can manage a public bunch of reporters but not two of my friends_. “And I don’t want to waste our time or our strength on people who absolutely _won’t_ be converted. There’s no point. Draco, you can write and invite some of the pure-bloods you think might be interested in such a gathering. I’ll ask Swanfair to alert her contacts, as well. Hermione, you and I can consult about the most important Muggleborn war heroes and some of the people in the Ministry. Ron can tell you whether he knows anyone who’d be interested.” Ron was still in the Auror training program.  
  
Hermione nodded slowly, though she gave Harry an ominous look that promised there would be revenge for this later. Harry released her from the spell and then turned and glanced at Draco.  
  
He was startled by the expression on Draco’s face. It looked far more upset than Harry had thought he should be. Draco’s hands were clenched, and his breath rasped through his parted lips as if he were about to spring on Harry and beat him up.  
  
 _He looks the way he did when I beat him in a Quidditch game_ , Harry thought uneasily, and lifted the Silencing Charm on Draco as well. “Draco?” he asked quietly. “Are you all right?”  
  
Draco stood up and stormed out of the room without answering. Harry gave Hermione an apologetic glance, got a nod from her—she seemed to think it was inevitable that Draco would behave this way—and followed his bondmate out into the corridor.  
  
Draco stood scowling at the wall. Harry came up behind him and cleared his throat. Draco didn’t turn around.  
  
“I only put you under the Silencing Charm because I thought you were _both_ about to insult each other,” Harry said. “Hermione wasn’t controlling herself any better than you were. What are you so upset about?”  
  
Draco whipped around to face him, almost hitting Harry in the chin with the back of his head. “You don’t trust me.”  
  
Harry blinked and tried to decide if that was true or not. “Not to do some things,” he said at last. “You were about to insult Hermione because you don’t think she’s a real witch, weren’t you?”  
  
Draco shifted, and his eyes went sideways, as if he didn’t think that he could bear facing Harry straight on. His voice remained angry, however. “That’s different. I meant that you don’t trust me to _really_ contribute ideas at meetings like this. You’re paying more attention to Granger’s contributions than to mine.”  
  
Harry drew in his breath to say that he was not, and then stopped and thought of something. Draco sounded the way Harry had when Ron and Hermione started dating—and snogging—intensely right after the war and Harry had accused them of leaving him out. Ron and Hermione had both been astonished by the accusation, and explained that they weren’t doing that, and certainly not on purpose. They were just so involved in what they were doing that they didn’t notice he was lonely.  
  
What if this was the same kind of thing? If it was, then what mattered was not what Harry had intended to do but what Draco thought he had done.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said. Draco turned an incredulous glance on him. Harry gave him a small smile. “What? Didn’t you trust me to apologize?”  
  
“I thought—I thought it would take more effort to get one than that.” Draco peered at him with an uncomfortable intensity, but at least he was looking at Harry’s face instead of the wall or the floor. Harry thought that was progress.  
  
“Well, it didn’t, not when you have a point.” Harry wondered what the bond was showing to Draco right now, but it must not have been anything too bad, because Draco simply blinked and then paid more attention to his words. “Now. What do _you_ think we should do? Don’t you think a public gathering is a good idea?” He ran his hand soothingly up and down Draco’s left shoulder.  
  
Draco seemed to gain courage now that he had a specific thing to object to. “Not without us. I don’t want you sitting out in the open where someone can assassinate you like _that_.” He snapped his fingers.  
  
“I won’t be,” Harry said. “Both of you can come with me, and I promise that I won’t go anywhere unescorted.”  
  
Draco folded his arms and rocked backwards on his heels, pulling his shoulder away from Harry’s grip. Harry found himself unexpectedly sorry about that. “Is that the same kind of promise that you made us when you said that you were going to rest after the Gut Chewing Curse and you didn’t?”  
  
“I made promises like that before and didn’t keep them,” Harry said calmly. He wanted to get upset, but this wasn’t the time or place. Draco had a point. “I did the last time. I’ve learned the value of healing now.”  
  
As though his words had been much more profound than they sounded to Harry, Draco hesitated, then said, “I’ll agree to it, as long as you stay with us, and as long as you let me have a big part in the planning of it. And Severus, too, of course,” he added, almost like an afterthought.  
  
“Of course,” Harry said. “What would I do without you at this point?”  
  
He made it come out joking, but Draco still took a step forwards, his face gone unexpectedly soft. Harry raised his eyebrows at him. He had started thinking that—well, maybe that the perceptions he’d had when the bond was open both ways were wrong, at least with Draco. Severus he could imagine making an effort to… _be_ with him, but Draco only seemed interested in fighting with Harry.  
  
Now, though, with the way Draco was looking at him like a self-satisfied cat, his hand lifted as though he were about to touch Harry’s cheek, Harry wondered if he wanted the same things Severus wanted.  
  
And the thought of making Draco look that satisfied in other circumstances was a good one, good in some way that Harry didn’t know how to define. He licked his lips.  
  
The door of his bedroom popped open, and Hermione stuck her head out. “Are we planning this or not?” she asked.  
  
Draco drew a huge breath of exasperation, but he did turn around and go back in, and he managed to keep his simmering contempt for Hermione beneath a polite surface for the rest of their talk. Harry kept sneaking sideways glances at him, silently bursting with pride.  
  
Draco blushed a time or two, which made Harry think the bond being open one way was good for them both. He knew he would have made a mess of himself if he tried to explain his pride in words.  
  
*  
  
Draco kept his hand on his wand and his eyes on Harry and Severus at all times. They were in the middle of a jostling, shoving, shouting, ogling crowd that had gathered in a wide field to the west of Hogsmeade, and Draco hated it.  
  
He could just imagine a curse coming from any direction, at any time. Severus seemed to trust to the wards that surrounded them in a portable, glittering net. Harry was too busy shaking hands and roaring jests to his Weasley friends. Ron and the remaining one of the twins accompanied him today, which Draco reckoned showed that they had forgiven him for leaving the shrew behind.  
  
 _Pity_ , Draco thought, but the sunlight that blazed through the bond whenever Harry looked at the Weasleys made it hard for him to resent their presence too much.  
  
On the other hand, it was rather trying for him to think that he was the only serious defender. His political training was useless in a crowd of this size and facelessness, and though he knew it would probably break apart into separate gatherings soon, his tension increased as the long moments until then wore past.  
  
A hand squeezed his shoulder. Draco started and turned his head to find Harry smiling at him.  
  
“It’s all right,” Harry murmured. “I don’t especially like appearing in front of this many people either, but it’s only once. After this, we’ll be able to be more select about our audience.” His fingers curled around Draco’s elbow and tugged him forwards to stand beside Harry. Severus followed on the other side, moving so smoothly that Draco would have thought they’d practiced this if he didn’t know better.  
  
Gradually, and with the help of Brynhildr Swanfair, who circled the crowd like a sheep dog and sliced portions of it off, they got into serious talk with the most important people. Draco spent his time evaluating them with as much coolness as he could muster and touching Harry’s arm when he thought he was missing something. Harry would pause, tilt his head thoughtfully, and spend some moments considering before he returned to the conversation. Almost always, he pinpointed what Draco had wanted him to pinpoint.  
  
Severus hovered on the other side of Harry like a great crow, and picked up those bones Harry had missed turning over. Draco was somewhat astonished at the way Severus could restrain himself and sound polite, if cold. He had never bothered to hold back that sarcasm when he was scolding his students.  
  
 _But these aren’t his students_ , Draco thought, glancing around at the people who had come to listen to them. _These are people who might have the power to either help or harm them._  
  
There were close neighbors from Hogsmeade—including several who had eagerly said they’d written to the Minister demanding that he arrest Huxley—Muggleborn “heroes,” blood traitors like the Weasleys, and a few pure-blood families who probably couldn’t bear to be left out of the festivities, even though they weren’t certain that they wanted to support Harry yet. Draco was watching with carefully concealed eagerness for a face he hadn’t yet seen.  
  
Then it materialized out of the crowd, and Draco forced himself not to do something as gauche as to sigh in relief. There were people here who would notice, even if he didn’t think so. He held out his hand. “Glad that you could make it, Blaise,” he said.  
  
Blaise lifted an eyebrow in what could have been either a mocking or a surprised gesture; Draco had never been good at reading him, and he had been spoiled lately as far as his skills were concerned because the emotions flowing from Harry often made reading his expression unnecessary. “I wouldn’t be left out,” he murmured. His handshake was firm but quick, and then he turned to study Draco’s bondmates. Draco tensed just in time to prevent himself from stepping in front of them. Severus, at least, had a claim to some of Blaise’s respect from the time when Blaise was his student, and enough wits and magic to protect himself.  
  
Harry…  
  
Draco wondered if Harry was really as vulnerable as Draco thought he was, or if he was still overreacting from the time he had seen Harry fall because of the Gut Chewing Curse.  
  
“Potter,” Blaise said, with a little twist to the name that could be taken as insulting if one wanted to take it that way. Blaise was an expert in saying such words, as Draco had discovered in his first year when he tried to tell Blaise how impressive his father was and Blaise had disarmed him by simply saying, “Your _father_?” “Quite a gathering you have here. Do you have any idea what you plan to do with them yet?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry said. The bond pulsed with uncertainty in Draco’s mind, but one wouldn’t have known it from Harry’s voice. He’d picked up quite a bit in the last month, Draco thought, and tried to keep his hand from Harry’s shoulder. That would weaken him in front of Blaise. “It depends on whether I most need a political party or an army. A political party looks more likely right now, but who knows about the future?”  
  
For a moment, Blaise actually appeared stunned. Then he grinned. “I do like your style, Potter,” he said. “My mother might be interested in meeting you. Shall I present her?”   
  
“I’d be charmed to meet her,” said Harry. His hand hovered near his wand, too, so that Draco knew he was ready to keep himself from being _literally_ charmed.  
  
Blaise bowed a little, and then turned and called Mrs. Zabini through the crowd. Draco called her “Mrs. Zabini” in his head even though she frequently married and changed her name, because that was the way he had always heard Blaise refer to her when he was introducing her to someone else. He did the same thing now.   
  
“My mother, Mariella Zabini,” he said to Harry, and bowed again.  
  
Harry and Mrs. Zabini studied each other. She was taller than he was, nearly as tall as Severus, with the same sort of thin, pointed face that Severus had, though with darker skin. Her eyes were guarded at the moment, her eyebrows permanently lifted. Her thick black hair was clustered in a tight braid at the back of her neck, and she wore a set of red robes that Draco knew must have some symbolic significance. Or maybe they were meant to make him think they did. The problem with Mrs. Zabini, his father had said more than once, was that she made gestures that would be meaningful in other people but emptied them of meaning for herself.  
  
“Hullo,” Harry told her. He seemed to have decided that he wasn’t going to be impressed. Reluctantly, Draco decided that strategy was just as likely to be effective as anything else. “Have you made a decision about whether you’ll join our party or not?”  
  
“I had thought the invention of a party was just a rumor.” Mrs. Zabini had a thin, fine, high voice, which sounded like it should have belonged to a smaller woman. She looked at Blaise, then spent a moment peering at Draco’s and Severus’s faces, as though they would tell her something. Maybe Draco’s _would_ tell her something, in spite of all his efforts to control it, but he was sure Severus’s did not.  
  
“No, madam, we intend to put one together,” Harry said calmly. “Certain people are very displeased with how Minister Shacklebolt has handled many things, including the arrest of Griselda Huxley.”  
  
“And if that has no importance to me?” Mrs. Zabini’s shoulders moved in a slight shrug. “Why should I care about someone threatening the hero of a war I was neutral in?”  
  
“What’s important,” Harry said, without missing a beat, before Draco even had time to draw in his breath in fear, “isn’t the Ministry’s treatment of me alone, but what it implies, and what the Minister said when I asked him about it. Huxley was going to be allowed to get away with attacking me for living with two former Death Eaters.” He reached out, laying his hands gently on Draco’s left arm and Severus’s right. “That suggests a hostility on the Minister’s part, not to me, but to former Death Eaters.”  
  
Mrs. Zabini’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she repeated, “I fail to see why I should have any interest.”  
  
“Not only Death Eaters,” Harry said, his gaze sharpening, “but potentially anyone who uses the Dark Arts. Or is suspected of using them.”  
  
For a while, Draco wasn’t sure that even that statement would work. Mrs. Zabini went on looking at them, turning her head slowly back and forth, her eyes lingering now on the hands that Harry used to brace himself against Draco and Severus, now on the way his robes hung around his shoulders, now on his earnest, still face, as if every aspect of Harry would tell her something equally valuable.  
  
“That may be interesting,” said Mrs. Zabini at last, in a voice as cool and still as a pond unruffled by the wind. “I will leave you my Floo address so that you can contact me when you have put this party together.” She fished under her bright robe and pulled out a scrap of parchment with a few words written on it. Draco realized that he was holding his breath like a teenager and released it with a whoosh.  
  
Blaise caught his eye and grinned at him. From the sudden relaxation of his shoulders and the deep breath he took a moment later, Draco thought _he_ hadn’t been sure what his mother was going to do, either.  
  
“Thank you, Mrs. Zabini.” Harry bowed to her, and Draco knew he was copying the bow Blaise had made to him. Certainly neither he nor Severus had shown Harry a gesture like that. It was a little clumsy, but that was to be expected, and Draco decided it might even endear Harry to the people watching them. “I’ll be sure to contact you.” He tucked the paper carefully away.  
  
None of the other conversations they had that afternoon stood out in Draco’s mind quite as vividly, though Harry received everything from smiles to blunt questions to threats. He passed alertly from moment to moment, ready to defend Harry from any of those threats, and when he went on to the next moment and the next alertness, he found it hard to remember what lay behind. He hoped that Harry and Severus weren’t relying on his observations of the day alone to decide who they should include in this political party and who they shouldn’t, because he didn’t think they would do much good.  
  
Severus continued to hover and to watch. Several times Draco saw his face relax slightly into a smile, but those moments were unpredictable. Draco enjoyed a surge of smugness that _he_ could make Severus smile virtually whenever he wanted to. There was no one else here who had that power, not even Harry.  
  
 _Not yet._  
  
Draco told himself firmly not to be jealous—after all, if Severus tried to ignore him when Harry started coming around, then Draco would simply make such a nuisance of himself that Severus would _have_ to pay attention—and then started observing Harry as they sat down on Transfigured benches for a meal of cheese and fresh fruit. The bond had flowed with so many emotions over the past few hours that he wanted to know for certain what Harry felt now that he had a chance to catch his breath.  
  
He quickly realized that Harry’s feelings changed from moment to moment, and it depended on who he was looking at. The bond beamed with sunshine when he regarded the Weasleys, darkened to wariness when he looked at the pure-bloods he barely knew, and softened into a slightly paler blue caution around the Muggleborn “heroes.” He was tired, but it was mental exhaustion more than physical, caused by having to haul his brain through so many different conversations. The bond also quivered with a jagged red feeling that Draco didn’t recognize until he saw Harry swallowing a glass of water thirstily.  
  
 _There’s still much to learn about him, and about each other_ , Draco thought, leaning his head on his hand as he watched Harry. _I wonder if he’s as curious about us as we are about him._   
  
As if hearing his thought, Harry turned his head and smiled at Draco, reaching up to slide his hand across Draco’s forehead and push his hair out of his eyes. “Are you holding up all right?” he asked quietly.  
  
Draco blinked. _He’s worried about me_? Sweetness moved through him, and probably made the smile he gave Harry all soppy and sentimental. “Of course. I’m more concerned about you, to tell the truth.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Harry said. “I’ll want to collapse by the time that we get home, of course, but I’ll be fine for as long we’re here.” Then he lifted his head suddenly, and Draco could feel the bond sharpen into a razor point of anger.  
  
Draco followed his gaze, and drew in his breath sharply enough to make himself cough when he realized that Kingsley Shacklebolt was walking towards their bench from the edge of the crowd.   
  
*  
  
This was what Severus had been waiting for. He did not really believe that the Minister would let an open gathering like this pass without appearing in an attempt to change the minds of Harry’s supporters, and perhaps even to make an appeal to Harry himself. His hand went to the vial hidden under his cloak, and he stood smoothly, dividing his attention between the Minister and the two red-cloaked Aurors next to him who bulled him a path through the crowd.  
  
 _Only come close enough, Minister. And then I will make sure that you accept a drink from my hand—indirectly. Having Harry offer it should be enough, since you won’t want to disappoint your audience._  
  
The Minister carried silence with him. Severus watched the ripple of discontent and apprehension spread through the pure-bloods, the Muggleborns, and finally to the Weasleys and others who had been too much involved in chattering with Harry to notice his arrival. Both Weasleys went red in the face. Harry’s friend started to rise to his feet, but Harry reached out, put a hand on his arm, and shook his head. The bond still flowered with anger, but it no longer resembled razors. It had settled into pounded stone instead, Severus thought—heavy and flat, ready to fall on the Minister and crush him if he so much as tried to behave insolently to Harry’s bondmates.  
  
Severus could have purred. To have someone ready to defend _him_ , and able to do it well now that the Gut Chewing Curse had been overcome, was a new and heady sensation.  
  
“Minister,” Harry said, stealing the moment of introduction from Shacklebolt. He stood up, folding his arms in such a way that his elbows touched both Draco and Severus in the ribs. “Did you want something?”  
  
Shacklebolt sighed wearily. He kept his head bowed, his shoulders hunched, as if he were bearing up under some intolerable burden. Keeping one sardonic eye on him, Severus found himself curling his lip. If anyone had the right to look that way, it was Harry, but it might be an effective play for sympathy on some members of the audience.  
  
“To reconcile,” Shacklebolt said quietly. “To try to understand your pain and your anger, and to explain why your demands cannot be honored if I am to continue running a fair and just society for the rest of the wizarding world.”  
  
“Explain to me,” Harry said, his body radiating tension and the bond twisting and turning like a kaleidoscope of knives, “why that ‘fair and just society’ can’t arrest an attempted murderer, and why my bondmates and I are the ones sacrificed for the well-being of the wizarding world.”  
  
Shacklebolt gave him a patient smile, and then cast his eyes around at the silent, avidly watching crowd. “You know that I can’t tell you that in public, Harry,” he said. “It would give away important secrets.”  
  
“Such as the fact that Huxley’s blackmailing you and you don’t want to arrest her?” Harry rolled his eyes. “Most of the people here already figured it had to be something like that. Why should one woman have such a hold over you? What happens if she starts forcing you to act against someone else, someone you _like_ in this case and who isn’t a suspected Death Eater? What lies will you come up with then?”  
  
Shacklebolt had gone ashen, and Severus silently but strongly wished that Harry had held his tongue on the matter of Huxley’s blackmail. It might be impossible to persuade the Minister to drink something of his own free will after this.  
  
“Is that true, Minister?” Severus would have recognized Rita Skeeter’s voice, which sounded dipped in treacle, anywhere. She was oozing towards the front of the crowd now, her quill and her camera poised.  
  
Shacklebolt mastered himself with an effort that Severus had to give him grudging points for. He would have been tempted to lash out in a situation like this, especially when most of his reputation seemed lost already, but Shacklebolt was canny enough to remember that this small gathering was only his immediate audience, not the whole of the wizarding world. He might still have the chance to persuade others, if not them. He gave Skeeter a bland smile, murmured something about his reluctance to discuss the affairs of private citizens, and then faced Harry again and held out his hand.  
  
“I will ignore your insults,” he said. “I will ignore the implication that I don’t care for your well-being. I’ve come to ask you back into the Auror program, Harry, and for you to drop these ridiculous insinuations and allegations against me.”  
  
“That would involve denying the newspaper articles and interviews I contributed to, I reckon.” Harry’s voice was slow and bored, but the bond shimmered with tension under the surface, like dammed water. Severus prevented himself from moving closer to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, as much as he would have liked to, and was pleased to see that Draco had also managed to hold back. It was their natural reaction when their bondmate was in trouble, but it would weaken Harry at the moment.  
  
“Among other things.” Shacklebolt was too clever to mistake Harry’s words for immediate compliance. He settled for folding his hands in front of him and looked hopeful, instead.  
  
“I won’t do it,” Harry said.   
  
Severus had expected the declaration, of course, but it was still a shock to watch the impact on Shacklebolt’s face and future. The crowd behind him stirred with excitement. Skeeter began scribbling. The Weasleys settled back and grinned, though the younger’s face was still furious. The two Aurors gripped their wands more tightly.  
  
“I feared that you would say that,” Shacklebolt whispered. “I still hoped that we could conclude a truce nonetheless, Harry. If you wish to do so, then you may come to me at any time and I will welcome you. My door is always open.” He lifted his head and gave another of those pathetic, resigned smiles.  
  
“I’ll remember that the next time I need someone to murder me or suggest that I’m being controlled by my bondmates or deny me my chosen career,” Harry said, and gave the Minister a poisonously sweet smile in return.  
  
Shacklebolt lifted his hand as if to make some sort of plea, then shook his head angrily, dropped his hand, and turned away.   
  
Severus knew that he would probably never have a better opportunity. He drew the vial from beneath his robe, though he still held it in the shadow of his sleeve, and waved his wand above the mouth of the vial. He cast the spell nonverbally, a greater trial of his power. But he was confident in his abilities as a Potions master, and he could chance no one discovering that Shacklebolt’s ulcer was not natural.   
  
The potion bubbled and foamed briefly, then turned into thin wisps of green mist. By the time those wisps had ascended above the lip of the vial, they were already invisible. Severus conjured a breeze that would direct the wisps to their target and nowhere else, and watched in silent satisfaction as Shacklebolt’s hair waved slightly and his robe rippled. Yes, the wisps had gone in, and he would have the ulcer now within a few days.  
  
Draco leaned heavily on Harry’s shoulder as the Minister vanished from sight behind the backs of his Aurors. “That may not be the wisest thing that you could have done,” he murmured warningly.  
  
“I don’t fucking _care_.” Harry turned towards them, speaking softly enough that no one outside their tight little circle could hear, his cheeks flushed and his eyes and the bond both shining with red and gold. “Why doesn’t he understand? I don’t _care_ about the blackmail Huxley is subjecting him to or the fact that he doesn’t like you.” He reached out and clasped Severus’s forearm as if he meant to rip back his sleeve and bare the Dark Mark. “There are things that are more important to me than his opinion.”  
  
Draco’s cheeks flushed brilliantly. Severus dipped his head and murmured, “Our revenge is enacted. Let us try to enjoy the rest of the meeting and convince others that our party is well on the way to becoming a reality.”  
  
Harry took a minute to breathe harshly and stand with his head bowed, as if he were recovering from an attack. Then he nodded and looked up with a bright smile. “You’re right. We can’t let the bastards get to us, can we?”  
  
He turned around and began to speak to the younger Weasley, determinedly picking up a thread of conversation about Auror training. The crowd milled and stirred uneasily for a time, then seemed to realize that Harry didn’t intend to gratify their curiosity and settled back into talking and eating.  
  
Severus watched Draco watch Harry, listening to his conversations and picking out hidden threats from glances and the too-sharp motions of certain people’s hands. Contentment moved through him, and not only because he had accomplished the spell that turned the potion into a vapor.  
  
 _We are in less danger now than we were, because Harry is beginning to acknowledge that there are some things no one has a right to do to him.  
  
And because we fit so well together._


	15. Chapter 15

  
“Hi, Harry.”  
  
“Hi, Ginny.” Harry gave her a reserved smile, and then wondered if that was the right thing to do when she looked away. But she kept speaking to him, and her voice was almost normal. Harry didn’t think he sounded or looked much better. He would take what he could get.  
  
“Do you think that you’ll manage to reconcile with the Ministry at all?” Ginny was pulling plates out of the cupboard, keeping her head bowed so that her hair fell across her face. Harry turned around, seeking something he could do that would also be helpful and involve a great deal of noise. He settled for rearranging the chairs around the table. Bill was visiting tonight, with Fleur, and since Harry was here as well, that added three extra mouths.  
  
“I don’t think so.” Harry kept his voice muffled. He didn’t want to sound too angry or too self-righteous. He had no idea on what Ginny’s feelings about the Minister were and no particular desire to find out this way. “At least, not right now. Shacklebolt still refuses to arrest Huxley, and that means that I don’t know if he even cares about protecting my life, or only cares about it when it doesn’t cost him too much effort.”  
  
Ginny made a disgusted noise as she started setting the plates in front of the chairs. “That makes no sense. What does he think will _happen_ if you die? Does he imagine that he’ll just escape criticism somehow, and manage to spread his hands innocently and have no one think it’s his fault?”  
  
“I think I scare him.” Harry’s words surprised him. He hadn’t thought about it before, since most of the time Kingsley seemed upset and angry, not scared. But he nodded now, new insights into this mess crowding his brain. _Draco and Severus would be proud of me_ , he thought wryly. _They’d probably decide that I’m considering the situation in a Slytherin way_. “He doesn’t know how to control me or what to do with me if I won’t be an Auror—even though he’s the one who prevented me from being an Auror in the first place. My dying would be disastrous for him, but so would my leading a political party against him or forcing him to arrest Huxley, I think. Too many things could go wrong. Maybe he’s panicked now, pressed against the wall. But softening his stance towards me would mean that he would lose the respect of other people.”  
  
Ginny was silent. Harry glanced towards her and found that she had shaken her hair out of her face and was looking at him with raised eyebrows.  
  
“I don’t know that that’s all true,” Harry added. He had to work to keep his voice from being defensive. Ginny was probably surprised, not doubtful. “But it’s what I think, and it takes account of everything I know about Kingsley and the situation.”  
  
“I’m impressed,” Ginny commented, and set the last plate down in front of Mrs. Weasley’s chair. “I didn’t know that you could think politically like that.”  
  
“Neither did I,” Harry muttered, and gave a tug on the chair he was still holding, although everything was arranged now and the chair didn’t need it.  
  
“They’ve been good for you, haven’t they?”  
  
Harry wondered at first if he’d heard those words only because he was hoping so desperately for them. But when he dropped the chair and looked closely at Ginny, he found that she was staring at him, though her face burned.  
  
Then she repeated the words. “Malfoy and Snape. They’ve been good for you.”  
  
Harry nodded, feeling as if he were edging out on a shaking tree branch. What Ginny said was important. Maybe they could be friends again. “Yes. They’ve taught me new things, but it’s more than that. They’ve taught me to think I was smarter than I thought I was, and to take chances.”  
  
Ginny raised her eyebrows and laughed. “ _You_ needed to be taught to take chances?”  
  
Harry grinned at her, and felt some of the pain he’d carried around since they broke up dissolve slowly. Yes, they could be friends again. “In things other than Quidditch and battling Voldemort, sure. I would never have trusted myself to take some of the risks I have in pure-blood politics, but now I’ve dared them, and they’re not so terrible.”  
  
Ginny rubbed her fingers over the wood of the table, a private smile in the back of her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that.”  
  
“I’m glad you’re glad.”  
  
Ginny glanced at him again, grinned, and then said, “I’ll call in the rest. Mum must have no idea what time it is, or she’d be in here cooking already.” She sailed out of the kitchen.  
  
Harry leaned against the wall and looked at his plate and chair among the rest. He’d been feeling slightly isolated from the Weasleys ever since he and Ginny had broken up, wondering if he would ever belong here again.  
  
Now that he knew the answer, he felt a bit silly for having ever doubted their ability to welcome him.  
  
*  
  
“So long as it remains _Defense_ ,” Severus said, and handed the book back to Draco.  
  
Draco glared at Severus and decided that his purposes would be best served by not exploding into a petulant rage. Severus had picked up the book he’d bought in Diagon Alley the day that Pepperfield attacked him and begun to study it when Draco went to get tea. Severus had a reservation in his eyes as he handed it back. He obviously disapproved of the subject matter, or perhaps simply of any book that referred to Dark Arts.  
  
“I’m not going to be stupid enough to use Dark spells _now_ ,” Draco said, when he thought he could control his temper. “Yes, I’ll only study Defense and Potions. Those are the subjects I want to combine anyway, not Dark Arts and Potions. That’s been done before.” He shivered as memories returned to him. Most of the time, he could push them away, when he was wrapped safe in Severus’s warm embrace or the quivering flow of Harry’s emotions through the bond. “Including by the Dark Lord. I saw that, remember.”  
  
Finally, Severus’s face softened, and he nodded. “Yes. I think I may trust your impulse to creativity and originality where I may not trust your common sense.” And he rose from the couch and strode back to the potions lab.  
  
Draco held his breath until the urge to shout after Severus had passed. He knew that Severus was simply trying to do his best to keep Draco safe, and that he was accustomed to being around teenagers who couldn’t make sane decisions. Most of them had been in the House of Gryffindor, however, and none of them had been having sex with him.  
  
 _I wish he respected me more. I wish he thought that of course I’m not going to do things that endanger me or the others, just because he always believed the best of me._   
  
Then Draco sighed and sat down on the couch, flipping the pages in his book idly. For the moment, he had lost all impulse to read.   
  
_I haven’t earned that respect or simple belief by my behavior yet, though. I have to show him that I can be even more mature than I think I am. I have to respond to his challenges with good humor, and keep my temper, and not fight with Harry all the time, and not always rely on Severus to comfort me.  
  
What would show him that I intend to do that?_   
  
After several minutes of scouring his thoughts and coming up with nothing, Draco decided to think of the one thing he would most loathe doing, even if Severus or Harry asked him to do it. Then it was simple.  
  
 _I need to apologize to the people my actions hurt during the war. Lovegood and Ollivander to start with. And maybe even Granger, because she was in the Manor when she got tortured._  
  
Immediate protests rose up in his mind. Why would he want to do that? He’d made up for his mistakes and crimes by saving Harry’s life when the Snatchers brought him, Granger, and Weasley to the Manor. Did that mean that he should apologize to all the people the Dark Lord had ordered him to torture, as well?  
  
The last question he considered for a time before he decided, _No. He made me do that. And most of those people are dead or in Azkaban now anyway.  
  
And I don’t think Granger would even welcome an apology. Besides, if I start apologizing to people that got hurt because I stood by and let it happen, then I’d never stop.   
  
But no one made me go out of my way to be cruel to Lovegood and Ollivander. I did it because I thought that the other Death Eaters would respect me more if I did. I thought I might gain a moment’s respite from the pain and fear that the Dark Lord inflicted on me if I could show that I knew how to inflict pain and fear on my own.  
  
Not my brightest idea. He never noticed._  
  
Draco was shaking now, chills sweeping over his body, as he remembered how he had stood next to the cell and whispered to Lovegood that they were going to rip her body apart and use it for potions ingredients, because she was too crazy to be good for anything else. He had justified it to himself, then and later, because she never paid attention to him. Instead, she talked to her fellow prisoners, whoever they were at the moment, or lay looking at the ceiling and the lines of the walls. That infuriated him and made his next comments worse, but in its own way, it was a justification, because she wasn’t affected by those comments, either.  
  
Now, of course, Draco knew very well that simply because someone didn’t wear their pain openly didn’t mean they weren’t affected.   
  
_I knew that before. I just didn’t want to acknowledge it._   
  
Draco wrapped his arms around his body and sat still for a moment. He’d whispered those things to Lovegood, and withheld food from both her and Ollivander. Once, he’d cast a spell on Ollivander that broke his hand. He was taken away for torture soon after and, when he was brought back to the cell, his torturer had healed his broken hand along with his other injuries. As with everything else during the war, the acts that Draco had counted on to impress other people were swallowed up by those others and dispensed with.  
  
Draco took a deep breath and then continued to sit still. He had thought he was ready to stand up, move forwards, and deal with this, to face his mistakes, but he wasn’t. Now that he thought about it, he was appalled to realize that he _hadn’t_ realized it was wrong.  
  
 _Or I didn’t let myself think that, or I told myself that it wasn’t wrong because so many other bad things had happened to me and I was just getting a bit of revenge._  
  
He leaned back on the couch and reached out for his cup of cold tea, taking a sip so that he could orient himself.   
  
_I was trying to get revenge on the wrong people. Of course, if I had confronted the Dark Lord or Fenrir Greyback or anyone else who was actually hurting me, then they would have destroyed me, but that doesn’t make what I did right. Just understandable._  
  
For a moment, he wondered if he should owl or firecall Ollivander or Lovegood. Then he burst into a fit of shivering and concluded, weakly, that he would have to owl them, because he would freeze if he tried to confront them face-to-face. It was an open question whether either of them would condescend to read his letters, but at least it would save him some embarrassment and looking as though he had merely firecalled to play a prank on them.  
  
 _I didn’t know it would be this hard._   
  
But what they had endured from him was harder still, so Draco stood up and went in search of parchment and ink.  
  
*  
  
Severus had endured torture, abuse, years of distrust and hatred, the loss of the woman he loved, the death of his best friend and mentor at his own hand, and Longbottom melting his cauldrons. Nothing was left to scar or surprise or shock him.  
  
Which meant the way his head kept turning towards Draco when the boy cursed under his breath and threw yet another scribbled-over sheet into the rubbish made no sense.  
  
Draco had started writing yesterday and hadn’t stopped yet. Severus could feel him wrestling with the words he needed to speak, a silent tension that swayed back and forth like a kitten struggling with a sea serpent. It was not the same as the tension in the bond between Severus and Harry that indicated Harry was also concerned about Draco, but it need not be.  
  
 _A sad thing it would be_ , Severus thought, as he sat back and watched Draco toss another half-completed parchment away, _if I were to start comparing my other experiences of the world to the bond and declaring them impoverished._  
  
Harry had begun to send images of concern that swooped back and forth like seagulls diving after fish when Draco missed half their shared breakfast to scribble on his letters. Then he’d gone to the doorway of the kitchen and looked out at Draco sprawled on the couch with a sharp roseate emotion that Severus knew was wistful concern. Several times he’d walked past Draco to pick up a book or change his seat and given him a direct look that Severus knew was an invitation to talk.  
  
Draco had blocked it out completely. For all Severus knew, he was not even feeling Harry’s emotions through the bond at the moment. He was solely and entirely concentrated on finishing this piece of writing.  
  
Then he crumpled another piece of parchment, and his exclamation of defeat and frustration would have been audible in a much larger space. Severus had to check himself from getting up from the chair. He thought this a problem Draco had to face alone, or he would have come and asked for help.  
  
Harry didn’t seem to believe the same thing. He had less experience of Draco’s pride than Severus, of course. He stood up, slammed the book shut—even that didn’t cause Draco to emerge from his trance—and stalked over to the couch, slapping his hands down on the arm. Draco looked up at that, but only to hiss over his paper like a cornered ferret and turn straight back to it.  
  
“You’re hurting,” Harry said. “You told me not to try and hide my pain, but you’re doing it now. Why? Tell me what it is. I want to help.”  
  
Severus winced and opened his mouth to interfere. That directness might have been the best way for Harry to approach a Gryffindor friend who was hiding a secret, but Draco had kept it concealed for reasons that must seem excellent to him. Trying to force him to confess was not at all the right thing to do.  
  
But Draco spoke before Severus could, surging to his knees so fast that he almost slammed his head into Harry’s chin. Harry whipped his body out of the way, but he couldn’t escape Draco’s words, which hurried over each other like the waters of a flooded river. “This isn’t the same. You were hurting yourself. I’m not doing that. I’m simply writing some letters to make up for mistakes, and no, I don’t want to tell you why, and yes, you should leave me alone while I do this.” He finished with a look on his face that would have made Severus step away even if Draco was still a child, and then turned back to the new piece of parchment in front of him, sucking fiercely at the end of his quill.  
  
Harry said flatly, “You _are_ hurting yourself. If writing those letters is so hard, why not just leave them until later?”  
  
Draco stared at him. “Because I might not be able to _do_ them later,” he said, in a tone that suggested insults were not far behind.  
  
“Who are they to?” Harry started craning his neck around so that he could see the words Draco was putting on paper.  
  
Severus stood up and stepped forwards, in time to catch Harry as he reeled backwards. Draco had deliberately hit him this time, in the mouth. Harry started to bounce back to his feet and splutter, but Severus pulled him out of the room.  
  
Glancing over his shoulder, he knew that he had made the right decision, no matter how much both Harry and he might want Draco to explain. Draco had already forgotten the fight and gone back to scribbling. His brows had contracted in relief this time, his mouth slightly parted, as though he had found the words he wanted at last.  
  
“That _idiot_ —”  
  
Severus stood Harry up in the second sitting room on the ground floor, and angled his body so that Harry could not go charging back to Draco. He poured scorn into his voice, because he knew that was the only way Harry would listen to him right now. “He is not suffering physical pain the way you were, and he will heal without our interference. That is the difference between his situation and yours.”  
  
Harry stared at him, mouth open in a snarl. His chest heaved and the bond sparked with red lightning. “I _need_ to know what he’s doing! How can I protect him if I don’t know what’s happening to him?”  
  
“It may take some time for you to grasp this,” Severus drawled, “with your brain oriented as it is, but perhaps your role in this matter is _not_ that of protector.”  
  
Harry glared at him and tried to step around him. Severus cast a Tripping Jinx so that he sprawled on the floor. Of course, this time he got up with the red lightning in the bond directed towards Severus, but that was all right. Severus could deal with it, unlike Draco at the moment.  
  
“What else can I _do_?” Harry asked, his voice descending as if he wanted to make it audible to mice living in the floor. “He’s hurting, I _know_ that, and he won’t tell me a thing about it! I have to—”  
  
“No, you do not,” Severus said. “He is not in danger of dying, and he has requested to deal with this himself. He also does not have your history of refusing help for dangerous problems multiple times in a row.” He disliked the way Harry’s eyes widened and the bond screwed itself into a tight, painful tube, but he had to make sure Harry saw the difference between his situation and Draco’s. He paused, then pitched his voice more gently. “I know you are intelligent enough to understand what separates you, Harry. Use that brain of yours now.”  
  
“What, the one oriented towards mindless protection?” Harry folded his arms.  
  
“Pretending that you do not understand the reasons I may have used an insult is unworthy of you,” Severus said calmly. “But if you _must_ be certain, then there is a way. Open the bonds fully and feel what Draco is feeling. That is a choice available to you and not to me,” he made sure to add. Appealing to Harry’s sense of fairness might be one way to make him _pay attention_.  
  
Harry froze. Then he tried to shrug and make the movement natural, but his shoulders were too stiff. Indeed, he was clenching his jaw as if he held ice in his mouth and could not move it off the most sensitive part of his tongue. “I don’t have to do that. I know he’s hurting. I can just watch him and know that.”  
  
“Very well,” Severus said. “And can you not also watch him and tell whether that pain is of the kind he desires help with?”  
  
“That’s different.” Harry whirled around from Severus to pace over to the far side of the sitting room. His spine looked like one straight ridged cord down the center of his back, and at the moment, the bond felt much the same way. “Emotions are obvious. What to _do_ about those emotions isn’t. You know better than I do because you’ve been with him for a longer time.”  
  
“Again, you underestimate your intelligence,” Severus said, “and also Draco’s willingness to explain to you under other circumstances, when the pain is past. You can learn to know him as well as I do. It is resistance to the logical means of doing so that makes you turn away from him now.”  
  
“I don’t want to open the bonds fully,” Harry said in a small voice. Now the bond was little more than a pinprick in Severus’s mind, though one that trembled with softly oozing blood. “I’m not ready for that.”  
  
“Then rely on my knowledge of Draco,” Severus said. He felt a touch of pity for Harry’s fear, but they had already spent more than enough time talking about that, and it seemed the opinions on neither side had changed. This conversation was about Draco. “He will tell us when he is ready, and I do not think that will be much longer. He is capable of great bursts of small speed, like a cheetah, but not much endurance. Either he will soon finish his letters or he will give up the project, and then I think he will feel mostly free to tell us.”  
  
Harry turned around and blinked at him. “That must be why his sixth year at Hogwarts was such a torment to him,” he said softly.  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow. Understanding Harry’s emotions, like the sunrise-colored revelation shimmering into his mind now, was not always a means of understanding the thoughts that had prompted them. “I do not see what connection that has to my words.”  
  
“He had to work on a single project all year,” Harry said. “He had to try for _months_ , and none of his quick solutions worked. No wonder he was frantic, if he doesn’t have the mental endurance to bear up under strain for a long time.”  
  
That was not a connection it would have occurred to Severus to make, but it was one he wished to encourage—and one that he was more than slightly surprised had come from someone whose best friend Draco had nearly killed during that time. “Yes,” he said. “He had no choice then, of course, as he believed the Dark Lord would kill his family otherwise. But now he is free of that burden. Thanks to you.” He made sure to give Harry a brief appreciative glance.  
  
Harry smiled back at him, but it was distracted. “No wonder,” he said softly. “No _wonder_. I didn’t _understand_. Oh.” He wandered across the room and sat down on one of the couches Severus had placed against the far wall, hands linked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.  
  
Severus did not intend to disturb him. He Summoned his book from the other room and settled down on the chair opposite the couch. He would have asked Harry if he required reading matter as well, but Harry seemed content to think, while the bond stretched and contracted like a beating heart.  
  
 _The arguments between us will always happen, but they are settled more quickly and easily now. And Harry’s stubbornness is no longer so much of a barrier._  
  
Severus dropped his eyes to his book in some contentment.  
  
*  
  
Draco sat back and folded his arms. He felt as though he had eaten an enormous dinner and was trying to digest it all. The food was contentment, and relief that things were finished, and the easing of a guilt that he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.  
  
The letters to Lovegood and Ollivander were finally finished.   
  
Draco didn’t think they were the most gorgeous or eloquent letters ever written, but they didn’t need to be. What they _needed_ to do was apologize and explain that there was nothing that could ever excuse his behavior.  
  
That was what had tripped him up for so long. He had wanted to write something that would stun Lovegood and Ollivander, not just convey his guilt. He had wanted to reach their hearts and show them that he had also suffered during the war, and taken the suffering out on them. He had wanted to ask for their forgiveness without asking for it, to so impress them that they would have to understand.  
  
He wanted to make excuses.  
  
Once he gave up trying to do that and concentrated on simply writing apologies, then things went much better.  
  
Draco let out a soft, contented breath, and squirmed a bit against the back of the couch. The letters were gone, both sent flying with the tough owl that Severus had purchased. The owl was also smart enough to find its way to two recipients; at least, it hadn’t shown any hesitation when Draco handed the letters over and it swished out the window.  
  
And now he could tell Severus and Harry what he had done.   
  
_They_ were the ones he wanted to forgive him. Severus had done worse things, but he had also tried to help Draco and offer him advice as he struggled through his difficult years, and Draco had disregarded most of that advice, unable to see outside his own situation. Harry was Lovegood’s friend, and he had freed both her and Ollivander from the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Draco thought that they probably hadn’t told him everything, but he still couldn’t be fond of Draco for keeping them prisoner.  
  
 _Even though I think he’s also fond of me at the same time_ , Draco thought, for the first time in hours paying attention to the bond that quivered with green globes of emotion like ripe grapes. _I hope that we have years to understand each other, but I don’t know that we do. At any rate, this should make things easier._   
  
He rose to his feet, stretching some of the stiffness away, and then cautiously pushed open the door of the other sitting room. Harry at once stood up, his eyes wide and focused on Draco. He gave Draco a tentative smile, which Draco returned. Then he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.  
  
“Do you wish to tell us what you were doing?” Severus kept his voice neutral, but Draco had learned to search out the spark of hope in his dark eyes.  
  
“I was writing letters to people I had hurt,” Draco said. “When they were the Dark Lord’s prisoners in Malfoy Manor, I mean.” Harry sat still, but the bond flexed and grew jagged yellow sides suddenly. Draco turned to more fully look at Severus. He didn’t want to cope with Harry’s disappointment until Harry learned exactly what he had done to mitigate that disappointment. “I taunted them and broke Ollivander’s hand with a curse. I know they hardly have any reason to think fondly of me, but I sent them apologies. I hope—I hope they accept them.” He lifted his head. Severus was staring at him in something like awe, and Draco absorbed that to counter the way the bond was still yellow and motionless. “But even if they don’t, at least I know that I did the right thing.”  
  
“Indeed you did.”   
  
Severus didn’t need to say more than that. The shining in his eyes, the careful way he held his hands and head, said it all for him. Draco smiled at him and then turned to face Harry, not sure what he would encounter there.  
  
Harry breathed out deeply and stepped forwards. Draco found himself tensing. He and Harry had so rarely been this close without exploding into a fight.  
  
But this time, after studying his face for a moment, Harry smiled and nodded. “Yes, you did,” he said, echoing Severus, and clasped Draco’s shoulder before he stepped away again.  
  
It was a faint, fleeting touch. Draco had seen him hold onto Weasley for longer, and he had seen Harry hug Granger. He was tempted to complain that he deserved at least as much as they did.  
  
But then he saw the sidelong glance Harry was sneaking him, the shy smile, and the irregular, silvery bursts of pride flowing through the bond, and he began to believe that those things might very well lie in their future.  
  
*  
  
“Welcome, Swanfair.” Harry made sure his voice sounded sufficiently pompous. Though he had handled Swanfair well so far, Severus had cautioned him, at some point she would expect a return of coldness and distance, or she would cease to respect them. “What do you have to lay before us today?”  
  
Swanfair hesitated a moment before sitting down. She then gave him a faint smile, as if to say she should have expected this. Harry didn’t smile too warmly back.  
  
It had been a week since the gathering on the Hogsmeade field, and as far as Harry could tell, things had settled into a stalemate. Negative articles accusing him of refusing the Minister’s reasonable offer of reconciliation poured off the press as often as positive ones praising him for sticking to his principles. A few people had written to tell Harry that they supported him, and many more had told him that they wanted to see something more solid before they joined a new political party, including goals achieved. Harry had had one fraught conversation with Mrs. Zabini which left him still uncertain what to think about her.  
  
Swanfair was a different problem.  
  
Oh, she had been polite in her letters; she was polite now that she was inside their wards. But there was a lurking current of something else beneath her polite manner that Harry wished he knew how to interpret. She was watching him for—something. He had no idea if that was simple weakness or not. If it was, however, he thought she would have attacked before now. Severus and Draco had both told him that he’d made mistakes in front of her, appeared too compassionate or too concerned about something that she would see as minor, like whether reluctant Muggleborns could be persuaded to join them.  
  
Harry had argued that he didn’t care, because he couldn’t stop being concerned about those things, and he wasn’t a good enough liar or clever enough to hide the concern from Swanfair no matter what happened. She had spies, both Draco and Severus had told him. Word of his emotions would get back to her no matter what. Why should he try to prevent the impossible?  
  
Severus had rolled his eyes at him. Draco had snorted and folded his arms. Harry was much less cut by those reactions that he would have been a few weeks ago, and had let them go.  
  
At the moment, he was facing Swanfair with Draco and Severus in the next room. He wondered if he should have listened to them when they weren’t there, as usual.  
  
But Swanfair had asked for a private meeting, and Harry _knew_ it would have made him look weak if he said no. So he fixed a smile on his face and said, “Have you come to bring me news of the Minister?”  
  
“Better news than that.” Swanfair did a careful sweep of the room with her eyes, as if she were checking on the status of the wards against eavesdropping and spies. Harry waited patiently for her to finish. Then she nodded to herself and fixed her gaze on him again. “Some of the more reluctant pure-bloods are coming around at last. They did not see why it should be their fight, but Shacklebolt is working to change the laws so that they invoke harsher punishments for Dark Arts. The Ministry will change the classification of many spells so that they are Dark Arts when they were not before. And anyone who used such spells in the past, before the intervention of the new laws, can be arrested for the crime.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous,” Harry said, startled into speaking before he meant to. “That’s violating basic principles of _law_ , not just changing a few pieces of legislation.”  
  
Swanfair smiled. “We should perhaps be grateful to him. He has driven several families to our arms who would not otherwise have come.” She drew a piece of parchment from her pocket. “I have a list of their names here. Shall I read them to you?”  
  
“Yes,” Harry said. He cast a glance around, hoping it was subtle enough. It seemed as though the walls of the library were closing in on him, and flickering colors like candle flames danced along them.  
  
“Greengrass,” Swanfair read solemnly. “Nott. Thompson. Willowbranch. Greathide.”  
  
The flickering colors crept closer. Harry found himself staring fixedly at Swanfair’s right hand, and the ring she wore there, which contained a large, shining stone across which the shades moved. Red, green, blue, purple. Draco would have known what kind of stone that was, Harry thought hazily. He didn’t.  
  
“Greenfeather. Nothidden. Thomsbreath. Willowwater. Greatturn.”  
  
Those names were like the names she had read before, Harry thought. Or had he lost his place in the list and thought she was repeating some of the names when she really wasn’t? He didn’t know as much about pure-blood families as Draco did, and maybe Swanfair was making some up who weren’t really loyal to the cause. He put a hand to his forehead and frowned. His thoughts hissed and danced to the side. The air was full of quivering flame.  
  
“Greenwater. Notbranch. Thomshide. Willowfeather. Greatgrass.”  
  
The ring on Swanfair’s hand flashed as she turned the parchment over. The swarm and swimming of blue ripples across its surface stabbed into Harry’s brain. His mind felt liquid. The colors were swimming over it, and he didn’t want to show that to Swanfair, because then she would think he was weak, and stop reading, and inquire in a sarcastic little voice if she should begin it over again. Severus and Draco had told him to beware when she used sarcasm.  
  
“Greenhide. Notgreat. Thomsturn. Willowfeather. Greatbreath.”  
  
Severus and Draco…Harry felt as if he were sailing away from them across a great ocean. The waves that lapped in between them were memory, and regret. Harry’s hand moved absently towards the phoenix marks visible on his arms. He didn’t _have_ to bear them, did he? He didn’t have to carry them? He could give his primary loyalty to someone else if he pleased.  
  
But that thought sank to the bottom of his stirring, rippling mind like a stone thrown into a pond, and it brought a shaft of white sunlight with it. Harry felt his eyes open almost painfully wide, his thoughts shaking off the colored cloth that Swanfair had been trying to cast over them.  
  
 _She was trying to get me to betray Draco and Severus, and transfer my loyalty to her._ Harry bared his teeth, watching Swanfair cock her hand so that the stone flashed at him. _Severus warned me that she would try to use some variations of the Imperius Curse, but that was more powerful than I expected. I almost fell for that one._  
  
“Greenbreath. Not—”  
  
Harry reached out and clamped his fingers on Swanfair’s wrist. She looked up at him, a quick darting motion of her head that made her resemble the bird that was part of her last name. She paused when she saw that Harry was looking directly at her. After a moment, a smile quivered up her mouth.  
  
“You figured it out,” she said. “You actually threw off a spell that I’ve managed to wrap around many minds far stronger and wiser than yours, at least in terms of experience and how long they’ve existed. Amazing.” She was looking intently into Harry’s eyes, as if she thought she would see the secret of how he’d done it there.  
  
Harry growled. He could hear shuffling and banging in the next room as Severus and Draco reacted to his anger, surging to their feet and coming towards him. He threw a fierce mental bolt of welcome towards them even as he gripped Swanfair’s wrist more and more tightly. “Why did you do that?”  
  
The door of the library opened, and Draco and Severus burst in. Severus held his wand as if he meant to use it in battle; Draco was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with eagerness to do something. Harry gave them a hard smile and turned back to face Swanfair, modifying his emotions as they flowed through the bond to relief and calm and pleasure. He wanted them at his side, but he could handle Swanfair, whatever answer she made.  
  
She sat still and watched him, not even making an effort to rise to her feet to defend herself. Her smile was small and pleased. “I wanted to see how strong you were,” she answered. “I didn’t know what to think of you, even after the way that you handled Shacklebolt. You were angry, but not as angry as I had expected. That made me think that you secretly longed for a reconciliation with him.” She shrugged a little. “Someone who displayed such a desire might well _attempt_ the reconciliation.”  
  
“I’m not going to,” Harry said coolly. “I have some hostility towards people who try to control me.”  
  
Swanfair picked up on the implication at once, but the smile she gave him was only a touch wider and more mischievous, still not frightened in the way that Harry thought it should be. “As I said, I couldn’t be sure of that. It might only be that you felt forced to act against a friend because of the action he had taken against your bondmates. If I tried to control _you_ without threatening your bondmates, I wanted to make sure that you would fight it.” She shrugged a little. “Harry Potter’s selflessness is famous, but a politician needs some care for his own goals, as well, and needs not to yield himself to every temptation that comes along. I am confident, now, that you will not, and that is enough to satisfy me. I will not try to control you again.”  
  
Draco tensed as if he would charge. Harry reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, never turning away from Swanfair. “But if you had succeeded?”  
  
“Well, then I would have lived with my disappointment and used you as a figurehead,” Swanfair said. She did not say _obviously_ , but Harry could hear it lurking behind her words.  
  
Severus made a short, swift motion with his wand. Harry held back his sigh. He would have to ask Severus later if he had cursed her, but he wasn’t going to embarrass his bondmate by doing it in front of Swanfair.   
  
Oddly enough, Harry thought he understood the way Swanfair had acted. Draco and Hermione had warned him from the beginning that she was as dangerous as a chained dog, and Harry had never trusted her. It was nearly a relief that she had made her move at last and that his strength had beaten her back.  
  
Looking at Swanfair’s wide eyes and guileless smile, Harry could only hope that she would not try again. But he thought the more likely answer was that she would not try again soon, or with the same strategy.  
  
As if reading his thoughts, Swanfair spread her hands and gave him a small bow of her head. “Give me power, and I will serve you faithfully. I tried to grasp power in what I thought was the best way. I see now that it must not have been.”  
  
“And how did you determine that?” Draco demanded. Harry wondered if he really expected to get a moral response out of her.  
  
Swanfair gave him a raised eyebrow above a puzzled smile. “Because it failed.”  
  
Harry had to clench his jaw because he didn’t know if he was about to curse her or laugh. Yes, in her own way, she was their ally. He would be able to trust her as long as she thought that he was giving her power, and the moment she didn’t think that, she would betray him without any qualms of conscience.  
  
 _Really_ , he thought, observing the expressions on Draco and Severus’s faces with covert amusement, _they should have more sympathy for her. She’s only sorry for what she did if she gets caught—which is a lot like Slytherins act._  
  
“For the moment,” he said, “we’ll remain allies.” He ignored the way that Draco suddenly shifted beneath his hand and Severus stepped forwards. “Because I think that you owe me something for being stupid enough to waste my time with a trick that failed.”  
  
Swanfair sat up straighter and examined him with more careful attention. “Do go on,” she said. “This is interesting.”  
  
Harry barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I want you to find a way to spy on Kingsley,” he said. “Right now, we only know what he’s planning after he does it, and I’m tired of continually taking the reactive position. We need to have some insight into what he’s planning before he does it. I don’t care how you do it, as long as it doesn’t kill anyone, physically injure them, or forever bend their minds to your control.”  
  
Swanfair gave him a small smile. “With people who are corruptible—which is the vast majority—I have found that it is best to use money rather than spells. It is less easily detected, and the people involved have more motivation to participate in keeping their secrets.” She stood. “What else do you demand from me?”  
  
“How much of the news that you supposedly came to bring me is true?” Harry again gently had to push Draco back. He understood the impulse to protect him, he was grateful for it, but just as he’d had to learn that he couldn’t protect Draco all the time, they had to learn the same thing about him.   
  
“The Minister is looking into changing the legislation concerning Dark Arts,” Swanfair said calmly. “I don’t think that he’ll change the laws to the point of making retroactive uses of those spells a crime. But it was rather a brilliant lie, don’t you think? And the rumor may do as well as my money or spells in recruiting allies.”  
  
Harry took a deep breath. He wondered vaguely if the person he had been nine months ago, when the bond began, would recognize the person he had become. He was condoning lying and perhaps even the Imperius Curse, or spells like it.   
  
_For the moment, yes. I have to_.  
  
He didn’t have any indication at the moment that Kingsley would stop pursuing the goals that endangered Harry and his bondmates; he still hadn’t arrested Huxley despite all the popular pressure to do so. Harry couldn’t make peace without some guarantee the peace would be kept. He couldn’t risk exposing the people who mattered most to him, who depended the most on him, to an unyielding vendetta because he wanted to be morally pure.  
  
 _When Kingsley offers me peace and means it, then I’ll consider engaging with him in a different way._  
  
Harry forced his own uneasiness away. He still had Hermione and the Weasleys, who stood outside the politics he found himself in the middle of lately, to advise him if he fell too far. Depending on other people had never come easily to him, but it was what he would have to do.  
  
“Go ahead and spread the rumor,” he said. “For all we know, it’s something that Kingsley _may_ consider doing if he has a morbid fear of pure-bloods and Death Eaters, the way he seems to.”  
  
Swanfair bowed her head, murmured a compliment about him being wiser than she had thought which Harry didn’t bother listening to, and then turned around and walked sedately in the direction of the door. Severus cast the spells that unwrapped the protection spells from around her and let her through the wards from a distance this time. Harry could understand his desire to stay here.  
  
When the wards reported Swanfair well away from the house and on her way to her Apparition point, Draco turned to face Harry. “We could feel you becoming calmer than normal,” he said. “We just thought that meant you were handling the situation well. But she was enchanting you, wasn’t she?”  
  
Harry nodded. “With a repeated list of mostly nonsense names and a ring on her hand that had a jewel with different colors. I don’t know what kind it was.”  
  
“An opal.” Severus’s voice had deepened with what sounded like disgust or concern. “Enchantments that affect the mind can be worked through them more easily than with other stones, as they change constantly, echoing the mind’s changing thoughts.” He stepped closer to Harry, his wand still out. “I do not like that Swanfair tried to enthrall you this early in our association.”  
  
“She waited until almost six weeks after I first met her,” Harry said dryly. “I think that’s fairly good, for her. Did you curse her?”  
  
“I tried,” Severus said, “but the spell reflected from the protection wards I had wrapped her in when she entered the house to keep her from trying to harm us. In retrospect, I am glad.” He looked at Harry steadily. “You realize that you could have been seriously hurt and were justified in dealing with her more harshly?”  
  
“Yes, I realize that,” Harry said. He made his voice calm, though he knew the bond would betray some agitation. “But I couldn’t deal with her any more harshly if I wanted her to stay our ally. And I was in danger, but I protected myself. You don’t need to rush to my rescue all the time. You don’t always need to change me. I’m doing a pretty good job of changing myself, lately.” He saw Draco open his mouth to interrupt, but he rushed on, because he thought he wouldn’t have the courage or the chance to speak these words again if he waited. “I’m accepting that you’re the most important people in my life, and I’m accepting that I can trust you and I don’t need to worry about you consuming me or trying to control me. I’m not ready to open the bonds in both directions, but that’s a pretty important realization, isn’t it?”  
  
A moment later, he wondered if he had done something wrong after all, because flames of soft gold and red, like stained glass windows set on fire, were ringing the phoenix marks on his arms.  
  
*  
  
Severus was the one who felt the shift deep in his mind, the tumbling, clicking, and falling like an opened lock. Draco, his eyes wide in wonder as he watched Harry, and Harry, staring at his arms, were not trained enough in knowledge of their own thoughts or in Occlumency or Legilimency to notice.  
  
But Severus felt the flame spread through him, and then it echoed up his bond into Harry, and down through Harry into Draco. Harry was the apex of the triangle, the master of the bonds, Severus thought, in a detached manner that somewhat separated him from what was happening so that he could think about it coherently. It made sense that the change would need to pass through him before it was complete.  
  
The warmth circled back again. This time, Severus thought it was best compared to a large animal stretching as it woke from a nap.  
  
“What—what was that?” Draco whispered, his eyes still wide. His hand hovered above his own phoenix as if he were not sure whether to stroke it or strike it.  
  
“The falling of a barrier,” Severus said. “There are certain changes I have been reading about which happen in accidental magic bonds but had not happened in our case. I wondered why.” He looked at Harry and saw him swallow nervously, but he didn’t look away, which Severus took as a sign that he was willing to listen. “I believe there was still a barrier in place. Harry feared us at a deep level, or feared what we felt for him. Now, he does not, and the bond will move forwards in the direction of optimization.”  
  
“And what changes are we talking about now?” Harry asked. Fear throbbed up through the bond, dulled by the warmth. Severus wondered if that was a dulling of his own perceptions or a dulling of the fear itself, because Harry after all could still feel the change in the bond and knew it for no evil thing.  
  
“We will begin to be able to sense each other’s specific thoughts, if we wish,” Severus said. “If one of us is in danger, then we will know the direction of the danger, and not have to rely on the phoenix marks to Apparate to each other’s sides. I would not be surprised if we begin to share dreams, as well.” He turned and looked at Draco. This was the hardest part of what he had to say, and he did not know if Draco would welcome it. “And the bond will melt from a triangle into a circle, reaching out to create a link between Draco and myself—though you will still remain the most powerful partner in that circle, Harry.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes. Severus swallowed and found himself instinctively trying to reach out to him through the bond the way he would have with Harry, to sense his feelings. But their bond was not in existence yet, so he must remain still.  
  
“That’s the only thing that was missing,” Draco said at last, opening his eyes and giving Severus a shy smile. “I want that to happen. I hope it will.”  
  
“Yes,” Harry said. “You deserve to have it happen.”  
  
Severus looked at Harry thoughtfully. Draco might not notice, caught up as he was in the thought of the changes to come, but Severus could sense the jealousy flowering from Harry like a thorny lily. Did he fear that Draco and Severus would become too close with a bond between them, given that they were also lovers? Did he fear the lessening of their interest in him?  
  
Severus did not know; as with many others of Harry’s emotions, the feeling was clear, the origin was not. And because Harry turned away in the next moment and Draco began to talk and speculate happily, Severus felt compelled to pay attention to Draco and leave Harry to the privacy he preferred.  
  
Inwardly, in a carefully hidden part of his mind, he was amused.  
  
 _If you think that we will lose interest in you because of this, Harry, you have obviously not thought long enough on the implications of consciously shared thoughts and blended dreams._


	16. Chapter 16

  
_I have a spy in the Minister’s office._   
  
Harry smiled slightly as he folded up the letter. Once, the only circumstances under which he could have imagined receiving this would be someone sending him the letter anonymously to taunt him, and Harry would have gone into a panic, wondering how he could figure out who the spy was. Now the letter bore Swanfair’s crest and was openly addressed to him, and he greeted the news with relief.  
  
 _Is that a good thing?  
  
It’s a good thing I’m not panicking_ , Harry retorted to the Hermione-voice in his head that always tried to spoil his good mood lately, and put the letter in a locked and warded drawer of the small table near his bed. _Maybe this is the wrong thing to do. But Kingsley seems to have no conception at all of where to stop. If I can only find a promise he would_ keep…  
  
Harry let the thought trail off, because it was impossible to finish. Of course, then the thoughts that Swanfair’s letter had helped him avoid came crashing back.  
  
 _I’m jealous._  
  
Harry stared out the open door of his bedroom at the closed and warded door of Severus and Draco’s. He knew exactly what they were doing in there, not because he could hear it or feel it through the bonds, but because he _knew_.  
  
He wasn’t jealous of them for having sex. If he’d only wanted that, he could have gone out and found someone who would have been more than happy to provide it for him. He was jealous of the—the _link_ between them, which was there all the time: when they ate dinner and automatically passed each other their favorite foods without asking; when Draco was saying something passionate and foolish and Severus stopped him with a glance, which Draco would follow with a thankful smile; when their hands brushed in casual interactions.  
  
Harry sighed. _Yes, all right. I’m pathetically jealous, and I wonder if the bonds will link them more closely together than they’re linked to me, and I would feel lonely with the two people I counted on spending the rest of my life with.  
  
But there’s nothing I can_ do _about it, just like I can’t force Kingsley to keep his promises not to hurt us. And if I could do something about it, it would be wrong. I don’t want to hurt them or break them apart or forbid them from having a connection I’m not a part of. I just want to be close to them, too._  
  
But coming between two lovers was impossible for him to do deliberately. Harry knew how angry he would have been if someone like Romilda Vane had tried to intrude on him and Ginny while they were dating. He would have to be an adult about this, and ignore his feelings as much as he could. So far, except for a few surprised and speculative glances when his jealousy really surged, Draco and Severus seemed inclined to do the same thing.  
  
The wards twitched in a way that meant someone who didn’t like them had Apparated into the street nearby. Harry rose to his feet, his eyes narrowed. The wards that Severus had designed to feel intentions were useful things, and once he linked Harry and Draco into them, they were as adept at fending off or preparing for intruders as he was.   
  
_At least this is something else to think about_ , he decided, and clattered down the stairs towards the front door. His wand was firmly in his hand as he peered through a small window near the door that Severus had masked so no one outside could see it. He wondered idly if it was Kingsley who had come back again, or Huxley.  
  
He was startled beyond words to see Ledbetter, one of his Auror instructors, standing there, his arms folded as he stared up at the house and a disapproving scowl on his face. Harry watched in silence for five minutes, but Ledbetter didn’t say anything or leave or attempt to come closer. Then he heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his toes and reached out to put a hand on the gate in the wall that encircled the garden.  
  
Harry hastily opened the door. If Ledbetter came into the garden, he would pull on the wards more sharply and probably bring Severus and Draco down from their room. Harry didn’t want to interrupt them before they were ready. He could handle Ledbetter on his own.  
  
“What are _you_ doing here?” he asked, aiming his wand at the Auror, who had halted beyond the wall when he saw Harry.  
  
Ledbetter sighed again. “Making a fool of myself,” he said. “I’m oversensitive, and I think too much, and I’m getting old. But my conscience can follow me into bed at night and eat at me, which the Minister doesn’t have the power to do.” He gave Harry a sharp nod. “I walked away from my job this morning. I’d like to offer what support I can to your cause.”  
  
Harry caught his breath. He had some understanding of what this meant. He could remember the speech that Ledbetter had given the Auror trainees on the very first day of their training:  
  
 _The Ministry teaches the Aurors powerful spells and permits us to handle some curses because they also know that they’re going to train us in morality. They want to imprint iron principles into us, principles that won’t waver or break. If you face someone who’s killed members of your family, you still have to be able to put him into a holding cell instead of killing him. If you see your partner die in front of you, you have to capture the person who did it, so that he can stand trial. We forget revenge. We forget personal passion. No matter how exhausted or frustrated we get during the cases, we remember that we’re serving the wizarding world and not ourselves._   
  
Ledbetter had impressed on Harry that it was unheard of for an Auror to walk away from the Ministry and join some rival faction, unless they had already had compromised loyalties before they started training, like some of the young wizards who had gone on to become Death Eaters during the first war with Voldemort. It would be like raising a private army of mercenaries against a centralized authority—rebellion and treason. Some Aurors had become private dueling instructors or investigators when they tired of their jobs, but that wasn’t the same thing. That wasn’t using their skills _against_ the Ministry.  
  
Harry shook his head. He was breathing again now, but it was still coming short. “But why would you do this?” he asked. “You don’t know what I might be capable of, and you told me that your loyalty was always to the Minister, no matter who the Minister was at the moment.”  
  
Ledbetter snorted. “Because of my conscience, I told you,” he said. “I heard about Pepperfield and Huxley. When someone does something illegal and malicious, you _arrest_ them. You don’t weigh alternatives because the alternatives might hurt you less. You don’t—” and his face twisted “—decide that you don’t need to arrest someone because the only people they hurt are ones you don’t like. You _don’t_.”  
  
He leaned forwards, his eyes so stern on Harry’s face that Harry felt paralyzed. “Did I tell you that my principles were tested when I’d only been an Auror for three years? My brother stole Galleons from two wizarding families and reduced them to poverty. I had to decide between arresting my brother and letting them be hurt.”  
  
“You arrested him,” Harry said. He hadn’t heard the story before, but there was no question in his mind now.  
  
“Too bloody right I did,” said Ledbetter, with grim satisfaction. “He confided in me because he thought I was still only his brother, that becoming an Auror hadn’t changed me. But my pain wasn’t more important than his victims’ just because it was mine. And I’m doing the same thing now. It hurts me to see the Minister acting like this, but that wouldn’t matter if he weren’t wrong. So I’m withdrawing from the Ministry until such time as he learns better.”  
  
Harry couldn’t help smiling; Ledbetter sounded exactly as he had when heckling the Auror trainees in his classes who he knew weren’t trying hard enough. But he did have to say, “You could just withdraw from the conflict, sir. You don’t have to support me.”  
  
Ledbetter gave him a deep offended look, like a hawk whose prey dared to talk back to it. “There’s not doing the wrong thing,” he said, “and then there’s doing the right one. Holding neutral is the first. Joining you is the second. I never want to hear you fail to make the distinction again. Do you understand?”  
  
Harry couldn’t seem to stop grinning. This was more dangerous now, with the stakes higher, but, on the other hand, he had another ally, and someone who could counteract the relaxation of his morals that Swanfair might introduce, and someone who could give him something to do with his life. He could still train as an Auror even though he wasn’t in the Ministry any more. “I understand, sir,”  
  
Ledbetter nodded. “Now. Are you going to introduce me to your bondmates?”  
  
*  
  
Studying a way to combine Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions was much easier when one had an instructor in the Defense portion, Draco discovered quickly. Severus could have taught him, yes, but Severus was much more interested in brewing and had never relished the role of teacher. Draco thought it better to pick up as much information about Potions as he could from Severus and study Defense with Ledbetter.  
  
That wasn’t to say he _liked_ the man.  
  
The moment Harry introduced him to Draco, Ledbetter eyed him with an unpleasant smile and said, “Glad to see that you’re somewhat different from your father. The face doesn’t make you look so.”  
  
The bond turned thick and red, but Draco took a deep breath and concentrated on the advantages that studying with Ledbetter might offer him, instead of the immediate offense he took. That let him keep his temper, and put a hand on Harry’s arm, shaking his head to show that he wasn’t deeply affected. When he met Ledbetter’s eyes, he said, “And you have some intelligence. That face doesn’t make you look so.”  
  
Ledbetter froze, his body tense as if he were going to hurtle forwards and curse Draco. Harry, of course, immediately tried to get between them. Draco hauled on his arm and shook his head again when Harry looked at him. _Admirable as his desire to protect me is, I wish he could see me in some way that would imply he wasn’t always looking at my weakness._  
  
Then Ledbetter laughed, and nodded at Harry. “I can see why the company of a Death Eater might offer you compensations,” he said. “Let’s begin.”  
  
Draco hadn’t realized how much Harry had suffered through when he still attended the Auror program; it was no wonder he had come back to Spinner’s End tired every night. Ledbetter was a grueling instructor. A good one—he had fitted the old aviary with the tiled floor up as a dueling room, reinforcing the walls with wards and the floor with protective spells, inside an hour—but hard.  
  
Severus would raise an eyebrow if he thought Draco wasn’t trying hard enough at Potions, and that stung more than hard words. Ledbetter was nothing _but_ hard words. He heckled Draco for ducking when he should have dodged and had a particular pleasure in using Tripping Jinxes to make his face collide with the floor. Draco went to bed more than once with a nose that had been healed four times.  
  
Ledbetter arrived each morning for three straight hours of practice. Where he went after that, he wouldn’t tell them. Harry said that Ledbetter was working against the Ministry in some way that he didn’t want them to know about yet, because they might not approve, but Draco thought it was simpler than that. He never forgot that Draco and Severus had been Death Eaters, and he didn’t trust them.  
  
More than once, Severus watched a practice through a hole he had carved in the door and masked as he had the window by the front door. Draco didn’t mind. Someone who distrusted him and treated him this hard might injure him, and Severus would be the one who decided when injuries to his lover became unacceptable. Draco had accepted that long ago.  
  
Meanwhile, he enjoyed the lessons most of the time. It was a pleasure to watch Harry duel and not have to think that someday Draco might face him across a battlefield. His grace was amazing. He understood many of the most complicated spells that Ledbetter tried to explain to them intuitively, though he fumbled when he tried to explain them to Draco, because his mind simply leaped ahead too fast. The bond flowed with new emotions, especially interest and passion, that had been missing so far.  
  
And Draco learned, too.  
  
He absorbed more of the theory of Defense Against the Dark Arts in those first weeks than he had in the rest of his life so far. Ledbetter didn’t consider it sufficient that they knew which countercurses they should use. He would explain each curse, why the Ministry had banned it, and what he would do to them if he caught them using it as well as the countercurse.  
  
Draco walked out of their fifth lesson with his brow furrowed. It seemed that it would be harder than he had thought it would be to combine Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. For one thing, Potions relied on careful combinations of ingredients and thinking out things beforehand. Defense, as Harry had shown with his talent for it and as Ledbetter had emphasized at least twenty times a day, usually required split-second decisions and a memorization of theory so great that it became instinctive.  
  
He hadn’t done well at memorizing the ingredients of the potion that Severus had given to test him. How in the world was he going to memorize entire ingredients lists to the point that they became instinctive?  
  
Maybe the answer was to go the other way. Maybe he should be able to adapt Defense to the slow pace of Potions instead of quickening the brewing.  
  
Draco smiled as those thoughts coiled through his head. Let them mingle enough with his ordinary thoughts, and he had the feeling that he would start having wonderful ideas.  
  
*  
  
 _The stalemate is broken._   
  
That was the first thought that popped into Severus’s head as he watched Brynhildr Swanfair walk into their house that morning, a fortnight after she had tried to enchant Harry. There was a sprightliness to her step that was more indicative of her mood than her restrained facial expression.  
  
Swanfair saw him and curved her lips into a smile only a whit less dangerous than a vampire’s. “Severus,” she said, assuming an intimacy that Severus had not permitted to her. “Will you fetch Harry for me?”  
  
“Harry is still sleeping,” Severus responded, which in this case was not a lie; both Harry and Draco had been more tired than usual after their sessions with Ledbetter. Severus suspected that the bond was also drawing energy from them to form the new link between him and Draco, though he had not told either of them yet. Harry, at least, would grow fretful. “You should speak with me.”  
  
Swanfair spoke so quickly as to make it seem that she had not even paused to consider that course, except that Severus knew she had because he had seen her eyes narrow. “I will do so. It is right that all members of the alliance know what has happened, and you are so close to Harry that he will not resent your hearing it first.”  
  
She was obviously fishing for some response. Severus gave her nothing but a reserved smile and a gesture to sit down on a couch in the sitting room that they were on their way to transforming into a secondary library. Swanfair settled with a great fussing of robes, as if she thought that she might catch some disease from the furniture if they were not perfectly arranged. Severus knew the fussing would have worn on Draco’s nerves, and on Harry’s, though in Harry’s case he probably would not have been able to say what the implication was. He himself could settle and raise one eyebrow.   
  
“My spy in the Minister’s office is someone sympathetic to our cause because of sympathy to Mr. Potter,” Swanfair said, in a confiding tone that made it seem as if they were sitting in a large room filled with spies. Severus watched her indulgently. _Someone like Swanfair must have her little dramas_. “He has found out that the Minister plans raids on the house of everyone who carries a Dark Mark. The official excuse is a reason to suspect Dark magical artifacts in their possession, but you know as well as I do that there is little likelihood of that.”  
  
Severus nodded. Most of the Death Eater families had given up the great majority of the artifacts they possessed to the Ministry in the wake of the war, whether those artifacts were Dark or not. It had been a wrench for them, but their safety and survival came before material objects. Of course, the Ministry could always allege that they had too easily yielded the artifacts that the Aurors knew existed, and thus there must be others buried in cellars and sitting in warded trunks in attics.  
  
“And now, the gem of this crown of information,” Swanfair added with some relish. “He plans a raid on your house as well.”  
  
“Though our Dark Marks have become phoenix marks,” Severus said. He knew, of course, that this consideration would make no difference to Shacklebolt, but it was possible that Swanfair’s spy had made an inference from the information he had gathered so far rather than actually heard the Minister target Severus’s triad.  
  
Swanfair caught his eye and gave him a deeper and slower smile that said she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Though your Dark Marks have become phoenix marks, yes. My spy heard your names mentioned distinctly. He believes that this is in part a product of the Minister’s frustration. He continues to believe that you...influence…Mr. Potter unfairly.” Severus kept his face straight, concealing his amusement at the way she spoke of “influencing” the minds of others when she knew that Harry’s bondmates knew about her attempt to enslave him. “If he can find some evidence of another crime, then he can arrest you as he cannot arrest you for the crime he _believes_ you have committed.”  
  
Severus grunted. Yes, that sounded typical of Shacklebolt. Severus could have expended some sympathy on the man if he had been so inclined. He had stepped into a situation he had believed was ideal and then discovered, too late, how much he would have to compromise his idealistic principles in order to achieve anything permanent.   
  
But Severus’s sympathy was rather restricted to his bondmates and those who made some real effort to help them these days. “When will this raid be performed?”  
  
“They’re scheduled to begin in a week,” Swanfair responded. “My spy believes that it will take Shacklebolt that long to winnow through the ranks of his Aurors and choose only the most loyal. There’s been a great deal of muttering among them lately about the way he treated Mr. Potter.”  
  
The weight of the smugness in her voice led Severus to a conclusion. _Her spy is among the Aurors, or perhaps among the Auror instructors. Since Ledbetter came to us, it is not impossible._  
  
“The most devastating blow we could strike is to publicize this,” he said.  
  
Swanfair nodded. “My spy hopes to come up with a complete list of the families that will be subject to the raids. Then you can choose the raid that you like and have your tame Skeeter standing by to capture it.”  
  
“Why choose another raid and go to the trouble of waiting?” Severus arched his eyebrows. “I was thinking of capturing the raid on our home.”  
  
For the first time, he saw a trace of anxiety whiten Swanfair’s features. “You must realize that such an action would put Mr. Potter in danger.”  
  
“You have been witness to several recent demonstrations of his strength. Forewarned, do you believe he will not be a match for the Ministry’s Aurors?” Severus laced his voice with mock concern.  
  
Swanfair met his eyes, showing full well both that she understood the mockery and that she did not intend to back down. “I believe that he may have trouble controlling his temper if he sees you threatened. The last thing we need is a public demonstration of his strength that will make him look bad to the people that he needs to impress.”  
  
“There will be no question of any of us being in danger,” Severus said smoothly. “We will have set up traps before then, I assure you.”  
  
“What sort of traps?”  
  
Severus said blandly, “As I am sure that you have secrets of your own that you wish to reserve, I know that you will appreciate it when I claim this as one of ours.”  
  
For a moment, Swanfair’s nostrils flared. Then she took a deep breath and rose to her feet. “The rumor that Shacklebolt intends to change the laws and punish people retroactively is gaining us support,” she said. “I spoke with Mrs. Zabini this morning. She will not stand passively by and let someone change the Britain that she has grown up in, to quote her.”  
  
“Tell her to set up an interview with Skeeter,” Severus said. “It sounds as if she could be eloquent on our behalf.”  
  
Swanfair froze for a moment, head uplifted and quivering so that the ends of her hair stirred. “I am not your messenger,” she said.   
  
“Was my tone too close to a command for your liking?” Severus leaned forwards, his smile firmly in place. “My apologies. I believed that you had an affinity for commands and commanding.”  
  
“If he has forgiven me for a test that was meant to reveal his limitations,” Swanfair said, “I do not understand the amount of blame that you direct at me.” Already she had controlled her emotions well enough to present an air of injured innocence. “Surely it is Mr. Potter’s affair whether he hates me for a simple enchantment that now he will know how to recognize and counter.”  
  
“Who spoke of hatred or simplicity?” Severus spread his hands and let her take that ambiguous remark as she would. “In the meantime, I must thank you for the information that you have offered. I know that Harry will be grateful for it.”  
  
“I should prefer to see him before I leave,” Swanfair said, her face now as pale as her family’s namesake, “to make sure he has received the message.”  
  
“I am his bondmate,” Severus said, assuming a pompous expression. “For me, his exhaustion takes precedence over your fear.”  
  
Swanfair’s eyes narrowed in thought. Severus was content to watch them do so. He had deliberately laid down a false trail that he was sure she would follow happily. She would think that Severus’s concern for his bondmates was overwhelming and stifling and ignored political considerations. Her actions against them, based on that false premise, were unlikely to be as damaging as they might become otherwise.   
  
And anything that might tame and frustrate her impulses to betray them was to the good as far as Severus was concerned. He did not think that she would continue her attacks once she was convinced that Harry was stronger than she was, but on the other hand, Harry’s strength had the unfortunate side-effect of appearing as weakness to someone like Swanfair. Severus would prefer not to have to deal with Swanfair’s injured pride in addition to everything else.  
  
“Tell your bondmate that I hope he sleeps well,” Swanfair said, back to bland again, and gave him a small bow, and left the house. Severus watched, as always, to make sure that she actually proceeded beyond the wards to an appropriate Apparition point before he turned and went upstairs to wake Harry and Draco.  
  
He met them on the stairs. Draco’s wand was drawn, his face so sharp that he resembled the ferret that Crouch Jr. had turned him into during his fourth year. Harry leaned on the wall to hold himself up as he struggled with a jaw-cracking yawn, but Severus could feel the bond surging with strength and alertness behind that.  
  
 _He may learn some deception before all this is over_ , Severus decided approvingly, and then focused on Draco’s question. “What did she want?”  
  
“The Ministry intends to conduct raids on the houses of those families who carried the Dark Mark,” Severus said casually, “under the pretense that they possess dangerous Dark artifacts that should be surrendered to Ministry control. Our house will be one of them, as confirmed by Swanfair’s spy, who appears to be an Auror.”  
  
“I think it must be Scarman,” Harry said at once. “Ledbetter mentioned him a few times and looked sly.” He rubbed the side of his face. “We’ll anticipate the raid and have Skeeter standing by to capture it, I assume?”  
  
“Of course.” Severus let his eyes linger a moment on Harry’s face. The bond conveyed the same alertness it had shown before, but there was _something_ different about him, something that had not been there when Severus saw him at first. A pallor to his cheeks? A mouth pursed in exhaustion?  
  
 _I wish Kingsley would stop these useless procedures. What is it going to take to get through to him?_  
  
Severus felt his mouth fall open slightly. He shut it at once, but Draco had noticed and came down a few steps to grasp his hand. “What’s the matter?”  
  
“I heard—one of Harry’s thoughts,” Severus said. It would be worse than folly to attempt to conceal the change in the bond from them now, when they would need to become proficient in using it so as not to become distracted by it.  
  
Harry whipped around and stared at him. “What thought was it?” he asked in a low voice.  
  
“That you wish Shacklebolt would stop doing useless things, and that you despaired of ever making him see that he does not _need_ to do them,” Severus answered. “The thought seemed dipped in despair.”  
  
Harry hesitated as if not sure what his reaction should be; the bond wavered and trembled back and forth between several colors. In the end, he gave Severus a wan smile. “Yes, that was it,” he said. “And I was wishing that you could hear it, without wanting to sound like I was whining by saying it. You said the bond could let us hear specifically directed thoughts, right?”  
  
Severus nodded. “Yes. I will not be able to invade your head and overhear thoughts that you do not direct specifically to me, and neither will Draco,” he added, because he guessed that that was part of the reason behind the fear racking the bond at the moment. “But it may prove effective for distance communication.”  
  
Harry nodded. “Yes, I can see that.”  
  
He probably would have said something else, but Draco interrupted. “Does that mean that the bond between us will be developing soon?” he demanded of Severus. “You said that it would, but I haven’t seen any sign of it so far.”  
  
Severus put a hand on Draco’s shoulder and gave him a slight affectionate shake. “Yes, my impatient one, it will. The beginning signs will probably be too subtle for us to recognize. There is no reason that we should at first notice an increased sensitivity to each other, for example.”  
  
Draco sighed. “It’ll be good to feel those emotions that you cage up too often,” he remarked. “Harry and I have done more sharing in the bond than you have.”  
  
Severus coughed, caught by surprise and disliking the feeling. His first instinct was to defend himself, which was never a good sign. “We should consider how we intend to counter the Ministry’s raid.”  
  
Harry gave him a single heavy glance that seemed to say he knew the reason behind Severus’s desire to change the subject, but entered into the discussion with a will. Draco suggested numerous spells on the edge of Dark Arts, Harry gave details on the way that the countercurses Ledbetter was teaching them could be used, and Severus took on the burden of the Potions defense.   
  
_We work well together_ , Severus thought, as he settled back against the wall and idly surveyed the other two. Harry and Draco were arguing about whether a specific curse Ledbetter considered Dark and Draco didn’t should be used in the attack.  
  
Draco caught his eye. A wicked grin was the only warning that Severus received before Draco’s thought leaped into his head, sharper and tarter than the one of Harry’s he had “tasted.” _Better than you continue to expect. What must we do to impress you?_  
  
In the end, Severus had to cough again and turn his head away, because he didn’t know that he had an answer to that.  
  
Draco helpfully sent the names of a few sex acts that he thought might impress Severus, and then added, _And just imagine what will happen when we have our first blended dreams.  
  
Perhaps they will not be exciting, if you offer me the gift of your body outside of them,_ Severus noted.  
  
Draco scowled, and dropped the discussion for the moment. Severus was more relieved than he liked to admit. So far, he had thought more in terms of what the changing bond would do to Draco and Harry than the effect on himself.   
  
_That effect will not necessarily be either easy or uniformly pleasant_.  
  
*  
  
Draco licked his lips and glanced down at the book in front of him. Since the disaster of the first potion that Severus had wanted him to brew, he had found himself checking even recipes he knew well obsessively for the details. He repeated to himself now _Opaleye scales, goldfish fins, Crup tails_ , before he looked up and into the cauldron filled with shimmering silvery liquid with a blue scrim over the top.   
  
This was his first time attempting to combine Defense Against the Dark Arts and a potion. He thought he had the right to be nervous.  
  
Worry slid through his mind. Draco blinked. That emotion had a sharper edge than normal. He wondered why. He had finally persuaded himself to go ahead with this because, if he failed, it was better to fail in the potions lab and out of sight of anyone who might berate him for it. Was he backing down now, when he had come so close to the goal?  
  
 _No. I won’t let that happen._  
  
Draco began salting the cauldron with vials of the appropriate powdered and crushed ingredients, his eyes darting back and forth between the potion and the book. Yes, the Crup tails went in last, and then he had to stir the liquid seven times in a counterclockwise direction with a silver ladle. The ladle was within reach. He picked it up and used it. Yes. That was done. He laid the ladle aside, on a piece of cloth that Severus always spread out to catch the potion that might fall from the bowl.  
  
Worry slid through his head again. Draco scowled and told himself to have better control of his emotions. Just because he had come to the moment when he needed to combine the spell with the potion was no reason to drive himself into a panic.  
  
He extended his wand over the cauldron until it was suspended entirely above the potion. Though this was all theoretical, he had decided that the potion should “know” the wand and draw as much influence as it could from the hawthorn wood. Hawthorn was associated with fairy magic and the supernatural passage between worlds. Considering what both the potion and the spell were intended to do, it was not entirely inappropriate.  
  
 _At some point you will need to choose a potion and a spell that do not rely so much on the coincidence of your wand being hawthorn._   
  
Draco ignored that thought as he had ignored the worry. Yes, it was true. It was also irrelevant for the moment, when he was trying to see if he could get a simple experiment to work, rather than planning out the whole course of experiments he would do in the future.  
  
“ _Video per praestigias_ ,” he whispered, and, as the spell formed in a shimmering yellow circle around the end of his wand, he plunged that end into the potion.  
  
There was a soft explosion that Draco felt in his bones rather than heard. Shuddering ripples spread out through the potion, and the cauldron rocked. Briefly, the silver liquid turned yellow, and Draco felt as though someone had grabbed his wand and was pulling on it. He held firmly onto the wand despite the opposition, pulling it out of the liquid again. It dripped with the potion, but a simple Drying Charm cured that.  
  
 _Now for the_ really _theoretical part._  
  
Draco swallowed and laid his wand down beside him. Modifying the potion with the spell had actually been simple, because at least he knew the brewing process of the potion and the spell’s incantation up to this point. Now he would have to modify the recipe, and choose the ingredients that he thought the most likely to complement his intentions.  
  
And to understand whether the effects were what he wanted, he would have to drink the modified potion himself.  
  
His hands were shaking as he reached out and picked up the nearest vial. Then he opened it and scattered the fairy dust carefully across the top of the cauldron, following that with a feather from a Fwooper wing and the powdered dust of an opal. All bright, shiny, changeable ingredients, and not ones that reacted badly with each other or with what was already in the cauldron.  
  
The potion nevertheless leaped skywards in a silent fountain of silver and gold. Draco had wards around the rim of the cauldron for exactly that occurrence, and the liquid hit the wards and fell back. The potion then stirred for long moments as if it had sharks swimming in it, then calmed and cooled. Its surface turned the color of electrum.  
  
Draco licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder to make sure that the lab door was unlocked. If the transformed potion poisoned him, then he wanted Severus able to reach him immediately.  
  
That seemingly alien worry was in his head again, and Draco had to pause and shake it away before he reached for the silver cup he had sitting nearby. He dipped it into the potion, drew out a small amount, and then raised it to his lips.  
  
His arm froze for a moment. Angry with his own fear, Draco tilted back the cup and drained the potion he’d drawn to the dregs, which admittedly didn’t take very long.  
  
The potion tasted sharp going down, as if he’d pressed his tongue to a tiny bolt of lightning. Then a squeezing feeling surged through his eyes. Draco tensed and did his best to remind himself that Severus could brew a potion to restore his sight if he was blinded, and anyway, he didn’t think it would come to that.  
  
Then a soft glow shone through his eyelids. Draco opened his eyes and turned around to stare at the lab door.  
  
He whooped with triumph. The potion had _worked_. He could clearly see by squinting that the ward on the door to conceal what was happening inside the lab from curious strangers was still there, but _he_ could see through it, and in fact he could see straight through the door altogether, out into the sitting room where Harry was frowning into a book Ledbetter had told them might prove useful.   
  
Draco danced smugly around the room. He had combined a potion that was supposed to make privacy wards stronger with a spell that would allow the caster to see through illusions. And it had worked as he had hoped. The wards that gave _others_ false impressions were still up, but _he_ could see through them if he wanted to. This potion would be a great help to them in struggles with the Ministry, since it would allow them to essentially fight through their wards without lowering those wards and becoming vulnerable to the enemy.  
  
 _I’m a genius._  
  
He slowed his dance at last and beamed at the wall—  
  
And realized that the worry was still in his head, sliding like silky oil across the surface of his mind.   
  
Draco blinked and turned towards the lab door. The emotion felt as if it were coming through the bond with Harry, except that he could feel Harry was still involved in his studying, his emotions muted in the way that they became when he wasn’t sure how he felt about the material he was reading. This worry was bright, sharp, clear, and present, as if the person worrying knew exactly what he had done and wondered about the result—  
  
Then Draco caught his breath.  
  
 _This is the bond with Severus starting, I think._   
  
He smiled and began to ladle the potion into vials, so that he would be able to leave the potions lab as clean as his conscience and go and comfort Severus. His fingers seemed to fly among the vials. Even nearly dropping one because he was going so fast didn’t damage his mood.  
  
 _This is a bloody good day_.  
  
*  
  
Draco and Severus were locked in their own bedroom again, and the notion of their door closed on him while he sat downstairs dug into Harry’s heart like a thorn.  
  
He wasn’t learning anything from his book, so he closed it and put it blindly aside. He hesitated, then Summoned ink and parchment and scribbled a note. _Gone to practice Quidditch on the outskirts of Hogsmeade_.  
  
The broom he’d bought for himself in celebration not long after the war ended was also a Firebolt, but more streamlined and a different color than the one Sirius had got him. Harry was glad. He wasn’t sure that he could face a broom that looked like his old one ever again. He filled his mind with that thought as he shut the door of the house behind him and checked to make sure the wards had caught.  
  
He walked through the streets of Hogsmeade and waved to those of his neighbors who deigned to notice him. A few came up to say hello. Harry smiled and nodded his way through short conversations on the state of the weather, his eyes on their hands all the time. They could still draw a wand and hurt him badly if he didn’t watch out, as mild and supportive as they had seemed since Huxley’s last attack.  
  
 _I hate that I have to live like this_ , he thought wearily as he finally stepped onto the field where they’d held their political gathering a few weeks ago. _I thought I could finally be at peace after the defeat of Voldemort. Who knew that there would be so many people who were determined to kill me and my bondmates?_   
  
He leaned against a tree for a moment, feeling drained and overwhelmed. His self-pity ran through him in sluggish rivers. If things were different, he could have a much better life, a simpler one, without the constant need to be on his guard. And he deserved to have things be different. It wasn’t as though he had gone out and volunteered to fight Voldemort; it was just something he had had to do because the bastard was after him. It wasn’t as though he had asked everyone to shower him with fame and glory because of his non-choice; it was something they chose to do.  
  
 _Why does everyone else get so many choices and I don’t?_  
  
But then Harry shook his head, wrapped his legs around the broom, and kicked upwards. And the force and speed of the wind tore the self-pity away.  
  
He spun sideways until he thought he would vomit, then aimed himself straight up at the sky and soared until his hands ached with cold and his breath was forming into crystals in front of him. Then he flipped over and drilled straight down towards the earth.  
  
The ground twirled beneath him, a kaleidoscope of sloppy brown and slushy white and sketched black and fragile green, with the March wind coiling and stirring around it all. Harry fixed his attention on one point in that dancing mess—the circle of green that was the field he’d flown from—and let himself fall until it seemed that he would crash into it. Then he pulled back up and began to flip head over heels. The bristles left fleeting afterimages on his eyes. His breath stuttered and stammered in his lungs. His heart slammed into his ears.  
  
Finally he flipped upright and made himself stop. He hovered above the spot where he’d first flown into the air.  
  
With his blood high, with his brain vibrating with tension and exhilaration, with his eyes still holding onto their vision of the sky, Harry found it much easier to make the adult decisions that he knew he had to. He’d _needed_ that reminder that there was something outside himself, and something outside the intense, cramped confines that he shared with his bondmates. The house was not the whole world. He didn’t always have to hide inside it, either.  
  
And he didn’t have to share _everything_ with Draco and Severus—which was only fair, because they couldn’t share everything they experienced with him, either.  
  
Harry leaned forwards, pressed his forehead against the broom, and made his decision, the same way he’d made his decision to let Ginny go and to try and stay friendly with her after their breakup, the same way he’d made his decision to oppose Kingsley even though he had once considered the man a friend.  
  
He would leave Draco and Severus to enjoy their new bond and their love relationship as much as possible. He would try not to be jealous. Of course, he wouldn’t always succeed, but he would go away and be by himself if he _was_ jealous, the way he had just done, so that he and they could both have some space.  
  
He would consider what _he_ would want if he were to date someone again, and look for those qualities in people he could trust. It might take a while, given the politics around his every move at the moment, but Harry really didn’t think he would be alone for the rest of his life.  
  
He would make sure that any person he chose to date was also courteous towards his bondmates, and more than tolerant of them. Draco and Severus were in love with one another, but they didn’t deliberately try to leave him out of that relationship that could only be shared by two people. Harry wouldn’t want to exclude them from his, either, especially because he’d picked a lover who was rude and stupid.  
  
 _There_ , Harry thought, lifting his head and shaking it like a dog shaking off water. _It’s not perfect, and we’ll still feel each other’s uncomfortable emotions sometimes, but it’s much healthier and it lets everyone have some freedom from each other._   
  
Feeling much calmer, and less jealous than he had been since Severus told them about the bond forming into a circle, Harry flew home.


	17. Chapter 17

  
“The Ministry will raid your house two days from now.”  
  
Ledbetter’s voice was hoarse and quiet, as if he had spent a long time raging against the injustice of life. His face was set in lines like iron. Draco stepped back from him and glanced instinctively towards Harry.  
  
Harry took a breath that seemed to swell his chest out, held it in for so long Draco became worried about him, and then released it. “Does your information come from Swanfair’s spy?” he asked. “Or from someone else?”  
  
“You may call him a spy.” Ledbetter’s face folded into harsher lines. “But I call him a dear friend.”  
  
Harry smiled and relaxed at that. Apparently, he trusted any friends Ledbetter had in the Ministry. Draco could appreciate why, after hearing the man’s explanation of his own high morals, but he still would have liked some more reassurance.   
  
“Do you know if it will be in the morning or the afternoon?” he asked. Perhaps trying to elicit more details would tell him whether or not the story was trustworthy.   
  
“It’s scheduled for the morning.” Ledbetter’s iron lines relaxed into hardly more flexible lines of distaste. “Perhaps the Minister thinks there will be more people awake to witness the humiliation of your being arrested then.”  
  
Draco nodded. “Then that leaves us a little less than two days to get ready,” he said.  
  
“Indeed.” Ledbetter picked up his cloak from the floor of the training room, where he usually dropped it when he began their dueling sessions, and slid it around his shoulders with a flourish. “There will be no lesson tomorrow, so that you can prepare, and none the day after, when the raid is scheduled to happen. But after that, I expect regular lessons to resume.”  
  
Harry nodded. Draco stepped forwards and gave Ledbetter an intense look. “You won’t stay and help us fight them? I thought that you were opposed to the Ministry.” He couldn’t help it; he distrusted a man who so obviously distrusted him and Severus, and put up with them only because they were irrevocably linked to Harry. At least him fighting the Ministry would have been a nice way to prove his loyalty.  
  
Ledbetter gave him a grim smile. “In that, I mistrust myself, not my morals. I would be tempted to be harsher than necessary if I faced people who were acting under the orders of that—” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “And I do not wish to injure people who believe they are acting for the best and only following orders. I wish to injure the _Minister_.”  
  
Draco reckoned he had to accept that, especially when he saw the approving look on Harry’s face. He was still uncomfortable, but if Ledbetter wasn’t with them, then he wouldn’t be able to cause trouble on either side.   
  
Besides, they had more important things to think about, as Harry pointed out by spinning around and grinning the moment Ledbetter left the room. “What kind of traps would most humiliate and embarrass the Minister?” he asked.  
  
*  
  
Harry gasped and opened his eyes. His heart was hammering as though he’d had a nightmare. He lay still, filling his mind with the deliberately dull sight of the ceiling. When he felt he could, he closed his eyes and rolled over in the bed again, burying his face in the pillow. Maybe he could get back to sleep if he relaxed enough. There was still a warm, heavy languor in his muscles, and he was _tired_.  
  
Then he felt the sticky coolness in his pyjamas, and remembered, or realized, exactly where that languor came from.  
  
It hadn’t been a nightmare.  
  
 _It might as well be_ , Harry thought, lifting his head and wiping the back of his hand across his forehead and eyes. He tried to concentrate on the feeling of his skin and nothing else, but it was no good. The thoughts stampeded through his mind and circled back again, trampling every defense he tried to raise against them. _I’m spying on Draco and Severus’s dreams._  
  
But in the end, he couldn’t hold on to that belief. Severus had told him that the blending of dreams was a natural change in the bond. Either they were all spies on each other’s dreams, or none of them were spies at all.  
  
Harry sighed and sat up against his pillows, fumbling for his glasses so that he could see the face of the clock. Three-thirty in the morning. Of course it was. When he woke up at night and worried about whether he would survive Auror training or whether he really loved Ginny, it always seemed to be at three-thirty, too.  
  
He didn’t know if Draco and Severus were awake. He didn’t think he wanted to know. He couldn’t remember enough of the dream to care about it, either. Just that it had happened, and there had been smooth skin and sliding limbs and tongues going where he never thought tongues could go—  
  
Harry laughed in spite of himself. _Well, obviously you remember enough_.  
  
He struggled in silence with his feelings of guilt and violating Draco and Severus’s privacy, and finally managed to come to the same conclusion he had about his jealousy. Those feelings were going to exist, in the same way that he was going to feel jealous. But if the change in the bond was natural, then they wouldn’t blame him. Eventually, he would get used to the dreams, and probably be able to ignore them.   
  
With a little huff, Harry lay down again, hoping that, this time, Draco and Severus would dream of something normal, like Voldemort or running away from a bunch of headless enemies, instead of sex.  
  
 _That was probably Draco’s dream_ , he decided as his eyes slid shut. _He has a hyperactive libido._  
  
*  
  
Severus tried not to wince as he guided the line of a ward carefully up the stairs in order to lay a trap for any overenthusiastic Ministry raiders. The first of their blended dreams last night had awakened Draco quite thoroughly, and then he’d decided that he should wake Severus up in turn and try out some of the things he’d seen in the dream. Severus didn’t regret the loss of sleep, but Draco had been…thorough.  
  
Severus had tried to keep an eye on Harry for most of the morning, wondering what effect their dream would have had on him, but Harry had been elusive, volunteering to take the upstairs rooms to ward and trap while Severus and Draco worked on the lower floors. Severus had thought about confronting him, but that seemed likely to produce bad results.   
  
_He has a right to be embarrassed. He probably also has the same ridiculous concerns about privacy that he expressed to me when he peered through the door as Draco and I were sleeping. Let him have his space for the moment to come to terms with the inevitable._  
  
“Are you sure that I can’t use the Limb-Stripping Curse?” Draco’s voice asked wistfully from the dining room.  
  
“Do you want the Ministry to have _reason_ to prosecute us for Dark Arts?” Severus eyed the stairs critically, then nodded. The ward was not the miracle of tangling and obfuscation that he would have made if he had had more time, but it was extremely good for an hour’s work that morning. Severus permitted himself a small smile. _Of course it is, if I made it.  
  
You’re bragging_ , Draco’s voice snapped in his head, accompanied by a curling red wave that Severus had already learned to identify as Draco’s irritation. _Stop grinning at your own cleverness and help me decide on the spells we_ can _use._  
  
“Harry made a list of them for you yesterday,” Severus called over his shoulder, deciding that he would not yet indulge Draco’s taste for drama by speaking silently. He wanted to control the pace at which the new bond affected them. It was possible, he had learned from his reading, that it would not be exactly the same as the bond that tied them to Harry, since he and Draco bore only one phoenix mark each. “Refer to it.”  
  
Draco’s indistinct grumbling came up the stairs, accompanied by an arrow-sharp thought: _Sometimes I think that you’re as afraid of the bond as he is._   
  
“Rather,” Severus responded, “I prefer to concentrate on the dangers in front of us. When you can reconcile common sense with fear, then do let me know. In the meantime, overcome your own inexplicable terror of reading the instructions before you presume to lecture me.”  
  
More grumbling, but no thought this time. Severus gave a thin smile and turned to spread a similar but not identical ward up the other side of the stairs.  
  
A vicious chuckle sounded from above him. Severus turned, leaning an arm on the banister, so that he could look up towards Harry’s bedroom. “It sounds as if you are having fun,” he said.  
  
“I am.” Harry stuck his head out of the door of his bedroom and grinned. “Imagining the expressions on the Aurors’ faces when they stumble into these traps, at least.” He paused. “Do you think that most people will believe that we just happened to have these traps strung all over the house? I didn’t think of that. Maybe, if we prepare too much, then it’ll point to the existence of Swanfair’s spy.”  
  
“That is a good thought,” Severus said, because he wanted to encourage Harry to think like this, foresighted and nuanced. It would make him more relaxed and more likely to accept the bond in the future, if not now. “But we must trust that the spy, if he has not been caught so far, can take precautions to conceal himself. And you forget that what the public loves more than anything else is a show, not an argument. A few people may despise us for apparently knowing about the raid and trapping those who participated in it rather than making a dignified protest. The more sensible will know that we knew, but also realize that a dignified protest to the government means nothing when it is the government sending the raiders. And the great majority will be entertained by our cleverness and support us because of that.”  
  
Harry grinned at him and turned to cast one last murmured charm into his bedroom. “Did you ever think of going into politics?” he asked. “It sounds like you’d be pretty good at it.”  
  
“I learned what I know from watching students and Death Eaters maneuver,” Severus corrected him. “That is enough to teach me much of how the world runs, but not enough to give me the political contacts and charm necessary to succeed in the public arena. And I have never particularly cared for manipulation, except as a tool of revenge and to protect my privacy. I much prefer the quiet comfort of books and theories, of cauldrons and a lab.”  
  
Harry stepped out into the corridor and looked down at him. The bond was thick with several muted emotions, blending into each other, and Severus did not have time to disentangle them before Harry spoke again.   
  
“I never thought about how hard that must have been for you,” he said lowly. “All the things that you were required to do, as a spy and as a teacher. Because you had to keep up your mask as a teacher, too, didn’t you? I know you did.”  
  
Severus nodded cautiously, wondering if this would lead to an outburst on Harry’s part concerning how Severus had treated him in the past. “I did not enjoy most of my duties,” he said dryly. “Of course, I defy anyone to enjoy marking sixty essays written by Hufflepuffs.”  
  
Harry didn’t seem to hear that. He leaned forwards instead, peering at Severus, and then said, “When the bonds were open both ways, I—I felt that you think your past is a weight on you that’s never going to go away and that you can’t stop regretting. Would it help if I shared my memories? If I showed you some of the ways that I’ve dealt with Voldemort and—other things, and got past them?”  
  
Severus held still. He felt as if he would crack open if he spoke now—or his voice would croak, which would be too revealing in and of itself.  
  
 _You don’t need to talk aloud if you think this is presumptuous of me_ , Harry said in his mind. When Severus glanced up at him, his face was red and he was clinging onto the banister for dear life. Severus decided the thought had probably been sent deliberately to him.  
  
“It is not presumptuous,” he murmured. He wouldn’t speak silently to Harry when he had forbidden his mental voice to Draco. “It is—unexpected. But yes, I would like to see your memories if you wish to share them.”  
  
Harry nodded, and bright golden relief separated itself from the rest of the emotions in the bond. “Good. I wanted—I wanted some way to show you that I accepted the full bond, without insulting you.”  
  
“Why would I be insulted?” Severus moved one step up the stairs. Harry didn’t seem to notice, his eyes carefully studying Severus’s face.  
  
“Because it might have implied that you were too weak to handle your memories on your own,” Harry said, “or that I pitied you. And I don’t.”  
  
“I know that,” Severus said. “I would have felt it through the bond if you did.”  
  
Harry flushed again. “I forget, sometimes,” he muttered, his fingers playing a nervous tattoo on the banister. The relief had collapsed once more into the mire of emotions that filled the bond. “It’s strange to think that someday I’ll have lived longer with the bond like this than I did without it.”  
  
Severus felt some of the tight muscles in his chest ease. That signaled that, some time in the future, Harry would manage to accept the bond fully. “It is the kind of thing that can only become familiar with time,” he said calmly. “Did any of us ever anticipate that we would end up linked at all, let alone with an accidental magic bond that also defeated the Dark Lord? I do not think so.”  
  
Harry grinned at him. “No, I didn’t anticipate being linked to either of you.” He paused, then added, “But wouldn’t you and Draco have ended up linked? Because you became lovers, I mean.”  
  
“It is doubtful that we would have become lovers without so many circumstances in common,” Severus said. “We spent enough time with each other to learn to tolerate each other’s faults. And of course we were the only ones who knew what it meant to have your marks on our arms.” He touched his phoenix without taking his gaze from Harry. This could be one of the most important moments he would ever have with Harry, and he was determined to get it right. “You are quite as strongly linked to us as we are linked to each other.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth and stared at him with soft eyes. Then he gave a mocking little smile Severus didn’t understand and shook his head. “The most important person to a lover is the other lover,” he said.  
  
“Do you not understand?” Severus took a step up the stairs. He wished the bonds were open both ways, so that Harry could feel the full force of his perplexity—and be reminded of his desire. “We both want you.”  
  
“I know that,” said Harry, giving Severus a look of annoyance while the bond turned clear, as if _he_ were the one who needed reminding about something. “But lots of people want someone and yet don’t turn their backs on their lovers. Desire is one thing. Love is another. I know that. You don’t need to worry that I’m going to come between you.”  
  
Severus stared, stupefied. _How in the world can he assume that we would not be willing to share with him?_  
  
And then his new knowledge of Harry answered him. Why should Harry assume that a sexual relationship between three people was possible? He had grown up in a Muggle environment that undoubtedly would not have encouraged such ideas. He had not heard the tales of bonds that made almost any actions of a pair or trio of bondmates in relation to each other acceptable. He had heard countless tales of his parents’ marriage and how they had suited each other.   
  
(Severus had to pause here to swallow bitterness. His love for Lily existed in the past and did not intrude on the present, but he still did not think she had been suited to James Potter and resented the people who said so).  
  
Of course Harry would probably want a marriage like his parents’, and he would believe most people around him wanted the same thing: the tight, exclusive, cozy nest of a pair alone.  
  
“I might resent you for it and be jealous sometimes,” Harry said, speaking quickly, as if the words embarrassed him and he wanted them done with. “I’m afraid that’s just the way I am.” He smiled, and the smile was not at all convincing. “But I won’t try to break you up, and I won’t monopolize either you or Draco. I promise.”  
  
“Severus!” Draco called from the ground floor before Severus could correct the many, many mistaken perceptions that Harry had just revealed. “I need your help.”  
  
Harry chuckled indulgently. “I think you should go help him,” he said. “I studied the wards you put up on the other side of the stairs carefully, and I can finish them, I’m certain.” He gave Severus a tiny push.  
  
 _I should stay and discuss this with him—_  
  
But a glance into Harry’s eyes showed that he would shut down if Severus tried, so Severus yielded with ill grace and went down to see what Draco wanted.  
  
 _There will be time to make him understand. There must be time._  
  
*  
  
The Ministry raiders came an hour after dawn.  
  
Draco, stationed behind the garden wall under a Disillusionment Charm, gave a grim smile when he saw the ripple of movement that marked Disillusioned Aurors sneaking towards their house. Really, this charm was best used when you could stay still. It was ridiculously easy to spot once you knew what you were looking for.  
  
Then he told himself to stop speculating like that and start paying attention to what the raiders were doing. He had volunteered to be the first one to meet them, and he would let Severus and Harry down if he drifted off into dreams and didn’t trigger the traps.  
  
Still, for a moment more he paid attention to something other than the Aurors—in this case, the bonds that linked him to his partners and let him feel what they were feeling. From Severus was quiet readiness, with the image of a crocodile lurking in a black pond. Draco grinned. The Aurors, no matter how battle-trained they were, would tangle with more than they could handle should they assault Severus.  
  
Harry’s bond tumbled with a mixture of emotions, red anger and blue anxiety doing cartwheels. Draco shook his head. In one way, he wished there had been more time that morning to reassure Harry before the attack, but he also knew that Harry would have been worried about him and Severus no matter how long they spent talking. Harry still had that stupid Gryffindor perception that _he_ was the one who had to face everything and take the harshest punishment, and if he didn’t, there was something wrong.  
  
 _Enough speculation_ , Severus’s voice said crisply in Draco’s mind, which made Draco start and wonder exactly what his emotions had been showing to Severus. _They are almost here. Stand ready._  
  
 _I am_ , Draco said indignantly, but he was unable to muffle another grin, because this was an advantage that their enemies could have no idea existed and which they had no way to eavesdrop on.  
  
 _I like being better than other people_ , he confessed to Severus.  
  
 _Pay some bloody attention_ , Harry snapped.   
  
Draco faced the Aurors again with a martyred sigh. Why was it that no one believed him when he said that he could deal with certain things? It had been his brilliance behind the setup of the defensive plan in the first place.  
  
The Aurors reached the garden wall and examined it carefully. Then one who looked tall—that was, he displaced more air under the Disillusionment Charm—stepped forwards and raised his wand. The first few wards began to curl back and fry under the pressure of his magic like ants frying in the sun through a lens.  
  
Draco held still. This wasn’t the time to strike. Those first few wards were easy to destroy because they wanted the Aurors to be overconfident and believe they hadn’t alerted anyone.  
  
Sure enough, Draco saw them spread out around the central one and watch instead of checking for traps the way he was certain that he would have done if he was with them. The wards were burning off steadily. Soon they would reach the wards that Severus had set up that detected the intentions of people coming into the house, and those would make such an alarm that Draco doubted the Aurors would expect them to sleep through it.  
  
That made now the moment to attack.  
  
Draco crouched down further, just to be absolutely _sure_ that no one could see him, and then waved his wand and murmured the words that Severus had made him repeat several times, though as far as Draco could see there was nothing very hard about them. “Amicio eos cum caeno.”  
  
The air in front of Draco began to rotate, and then a cloud of dirt rose from the flowerbeds where he’d concealed it and flew straight at the Aurors. The moving air acted like a fan, hurling the dirt in rippling patterns that were impossible to dodge. In moments, the Aurors, spluttering and outlined by the dirt, were almost as visible as they would have been if the Disillusionment Charms were canceled.  
  
Draco chuckled. The dirt was a minor inconvenience, but it was sticky and wet on the bottom and would cling to their robes. Not only did it outline them, it got into their eyes and won Draco a few moments to cast the next spell.  
  
And there was another purpose for the dirt, too, though Draco doubted that any of the Aurors would guess that before they ran straight into it.  
  
Disgusted and irritated shouting erupted from Draco’s victims. Some of them paused to brush themselves off. Others were wiser and lifted Shield Charms to absorb whatever spells were coming next.  
  
 _Let them_ , Draco thought in glee, and then sketched a pattern of crosses with his wand in midair as he murmured, “ _Depilo eos_.”  
  
The spell, a boomerang of blue light, traveled up from his wand and arched neatly over the Shield Charms, falling on the Aurors from above. In a flash, all of their hair was gone. More than one Auror yelped in consternation and flailed about, either trying to understand what had happened or trying to cope with sudden baldness. Draco laughed.  
  
 _Now_ , Severus urged in his head. _You remember the incantations I taught you?  
  
I remember all the incantations that you taught me_ , Draco retorted haughtily, and raised his wand again.  
  
 _Better than you remember potions, it seems._  
  
Draco scowled and concentrated with all his might on the next words, so that Severus wouldn’t have a _choice_ but to be impressed with him. “ _Finite Incantatem Adseveranter_!”  
  
The power of the spell, a stronger version of the normal _Finite_ , shook him as it departed his wand. He could see why it wasn’t used more often; most wizards would lose control of it and lash about wildly with their magic.  
  
The spell spread out around the Shield Charms and the Disillusionment Charms, as well as the other spells that the Aurors might be readying, and destroyed them comprehensively. Draco chuckled again as he watched the Aurors stare at their wands, and then at each other, in consternation. There was a reason he had used spells that were over quickly; the sticky dirt was clinging to them because it was wet alone, without needing magic to keep it on.  
  
He Confounded them quickly, while they were still gaping at each other and before they could raise defenses. Then he removed his own Disillusionment Charm, stood up, stuck his tongue out, put his fingers in his ears, and waggled them. It was exactly the sort of thing that his father had forbidden him to do when he was a child, and the gesture brought a delicious sense of freedom with it.  
  
He turned and ran towards the house as they yelled and fired a few spells that missed. Severus had taught him a more powerful version of the Confundus Charm, too. From now on, the Aurors would act like they were mildly drunk.  
  
They stampeded after him, of course, shouting for him to stop by order of the Ministry. Draco ducked into the dueling room that Ledbetter had made out of the aviary, casting spells that would ensure they couldn’t see the door. Their words were an unexpected, but very welcome, addition to the evidence he and his bondmates were gathering that it was the Ministry who had it in for them.  
  
The Aurors entered the house cautiously, glancing from left to right and jabbing their wands at shadows. Draco whispered one last spell, triggering a time-delayed charm that blew feathers down from the ceiling. The feathers stuck in the dirt that clung to the Aurors and confused them further, not to mention making them look ridiculous.  
  
 _If anyone can see them, anyway_ , Harry’s voice said in Draco’s head. _You forgot to turn the walls transparent so the neighbors can see in and watch them make fools of themselves._   
  
Draco cursed softly and fumbled for his wand. Harry stopped him with a snort. _Don’t worry, Severus already did it. Just remember next time.  
  
I sincerely hope that we won’t have to handle many more of these raids,_ Severus said dryly. Their mental voices, Draco had quickly discovered, were muffled versions of their speaking ones. _In the future, however, Draco, you may want keep in mind the value of memory._  
  
Draco flushed and crouched down further. Well, he had done his part, and done it well. The rest of the defense was up to Severus and Harry.  
  
*  
  
Eventually, as Severus had known they would, the Aurors got tired of fumbling about on the first two floors and finding only common objects, all warded with Stinging Hexes and Tripping Jinxes, and turned their attention to the second floor.  
  
He could, of course, wait until the wards on the stairs had taken care of the Aurors. But he wanted a more active part in the proceedings, and he intended to take it.  
  
As the first of them set his foot on the bottom step, Severus murmured a spell that he had created through modification of the Confundus Charm, and placed in both his old Potions book and the one he had given Harry for Christmas. Whether Harry had traveled far enough in his study of the book to learn the spell or recognize its effects, Severus did not know. But he would appreciate what Severus had done in greater detail if he had.  
  
The Aurors began to slip and stagger as though the steps were coated with butter. Severus leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs, where he stood concealed by a Disillusionment Charm, and smiled slightly. The spell attacked the inner ear of each Auror, upsetting their balance and making them feel as if the house were spinning around them.  
  
Nothing illegal. Nothing Dark. Only confusion and common pranks. When one Auror vomited, it was an unexpected bonus. Severus maintained the spell for a few seconds longer, then canceled it with a whispered _Finite_.  
  
The Aurors recovered themselves with care this time, and sent two scouts up the stairs while the rest waited at the bottom. Severus commended their caution, though it had come too late to prevent them from being covered with mud and feathers and giving away their identity, not to mention looking like fools in front of any citizens of Hogsmeade who were watching.  
  
The scouts reached the top of the stairs without travail. The twin wards Severus and Harry had cast were instructed to give any intruders a chance to back out if they would take it. But the moment the scouts’ feet went past the ends of the railings, the wards hissed to life.  
  
A mass of vines shot across the stairs, growing from either side and irresistibly drawn to join together like nails to magnets. The Aurors, of course, found themselves pinned in by creepers, wound with lianas, draped with flowers that stuck to the mud and peeled away from their stalks in doing so, and half-blinded by rootlets.   
  
They shouted. They flailed. They stumbled halfway down the stairs and then came to a dead stop; the vines would stretch only so far from their growing place at the top of the railings, and they were firmly rooted. Severus clamped his mouth shut so that he could prevent himself from laughing like a madman. There was no need to give away his position.  
  
 _And when they go back to the Ministry, they will not be able to swear to a single Dark spell, or to a single injury that was sustained from a curse._   
  
The other Aurors came cautiously up to try and unwind their comrades. It took them more than half an hour. Each vine that was cut away immediately began to grow back, and the mud and feathers that covered the other Aurors made the task more difficult, as did the lingering effects of the charms that Draco and Severus had cast. Severus made sure to pay careful attention to the scene. This was a memory that he would place in a Pensieve and visit as often as he needed amusement.  
  
Finally, one of the Aurors had the bright idea to cast a spell on the vines that would render them unable to grow again, and they managed to work the two imprisoned men free. They gathered again at the bottom of the stairs, grumbling and making plans that then someone else would destroy with another suggestion. Severus wondered for a moment if they would stand there all morning and ruin his and his bondmates’ plans. They had made the Aurors look ridiculous, yes, but there was more to that.  
  
Finally, he decided that he would have to take the matter into his own hands to show them that the staircase was now safe.  
  
 _Be careful_. Harry’s voice thrummed in his head like a rope pulled taut across an abyss, joined by the bond.  
  
 _I will be_ , Severus said, struggling to keep the irony out of his tone. How many times had Harry charged into a situation like this, _not_ being careful?  
  
But that was not a thought he wished to send, and in the end he restrained himself and moved forwards, pulling back the Disillusionment Charm from his wand only. He waited until the Aurors noticed the floating wand, and then ostentatiously removed the wards that had coiled about the top of the stairs and produced the vines.   
  
The Aurors yelped like a bunch of hounds and charged upwards. Severus dropped back, casting a few spells that transformed the floor to ice, and then stepped neatly into his and Draco’s bedroom and threw powerful wards across the door.  
  
His part was done. It was up to Harry now, to administer the final blow of mockery.  
  
*  
  
Harry relaxed when he heard the door of the bedroom shut. He knew that meant Severus was out of danger, and he didn’t need to worry about the quality of the wards that Severus could command.  
  
It was his turn.   
  
Harry smiled as he stepped out of his bedroom and watched the Aurors flailing and scrambling about, arms spread and bodies bowing and twisting, on the floor that Severus had enchanted. It took them longer than he would have thought to notice him, but when they did, most of them gaped as witlessly as he could have hoped. Others hastily aimed their wands, curses flickering on their tongues.  
  
Harry had already cast the _Sonorus_ Charm on his throat, one reason that he’d been careful not to speak aloud since the Aurors entered the house. Now he cast another spell, one that projected the vision of him facing the Aurors up over their house and into the sky above Hogsmeade. If it worked the way Severus had promised it would, it should also project his words.  
  
They wanted everyone to witness this final confrontation.  
  
Harry gave them a stern frown. “Have you really come to harm me?” he asked in a whisper. Severus had told him to use a whisper to make it more affecting; with the spells, no one should have any trouble hearing him. “When I killed Voldemort, and didn’t ask anything from the Minister except for him to arrest the person who tried to kill me?” He closed his eyes and dropped his head slowly into his hands. “I reckon that it doesn’t matter what I do. Even saving the world isn’t enough for some people. They’ll continue to think that I owe them everything, just because of the scar on my forehead.”  
  
One of the smarter Aurors snorted and tried to seize control of the conversation. “It has nothing to do with what you have or haven’t done, Mr. Potter. It has to do with you possessing significant Dark magical artifacts.”  
  
“What are those?” Harry asked, lifting his head and blinking rapidly. After a few hours of patient instruction from Draco yesterday, he had mastered the art of making tears come to his eyes no matter how he really felt. Several of the Aurors shifted uncomfortably as a single glistening tear slid down his cheek.  
  
“We don’t know,” the Auror said shortly. She was a lean woman with a few remaining wisps of blonde hair and a set of white teeth that she seemed to think she could use to subdue him if she just showed them. “We only know that Dark artifacts were reported, and of course we needed to follow up on the report and see if it was true.”  
  
“Then cast your spells that should detect them,” Harry said. “Or Summon them. You’ve already invaded my home, the home where I am doing nothing but trying to live in peace with the people I am responsible for. Why shouldn’t you go through my possessions?” He stared at the floor and mustered a sad smile. “I’m used to it.”  
  
“Mr. Potter—” the blonde Auror began, but Harry went on, musing as though he had forgotten the existence of his audience.  
  
“I was raised in a cupboard, by Muggles who hated magic and had no reason to regard me kindly. I didn’t have any possessions of my own until I went to Hogwarts, because I wore my cousin’s old clothes and used his old books. My first birthday gift was the one I received on my eleventh birthday, a post-owl.” Harry raised his head and looked wistfully at the Aurors. “Somehow, I thought things would be different once I came into the wizarding world. But no, then I had to fight Voldemort, and I discovered that the people I saved wouldn’t feel grateful for it. I was called the Heir of Slytherin in my second year and mad in my fifth year.” Harry shook his head and let a shivering sigh rise from his toes. “I should have known that things would never be different, even after the war.”  
  
He’d argued with Severus and Draco about revealing the details of his childhood, but Severus had insisted. They wanted to make people feel compassion for Harry, he said, and understand the full ridiculousness of the ways in which the Ministry was trying to persecute him. The more pitiable details, the better.  
  
As so often since he was bonded to them, Harry had swallowed his pride and agreed.  
  
He sniffled tragically and stared over the Aurors’ heads at the far wall. “I know that I’m a sacrifice to most people,” he whispered, “and that they would want me to simply die quietly and get it over with. But I dared to dream. I thought that I would have a life of my own at some point, and what I’ve always wanted: peace and normality.” Harry had to ignore the chorus of snorts in his mind at that point. “But it seems that it’s not to be.” He looked at the Aurors, starting a little as thought he had just noticed them again. “Do your searching,” he said wearily, turning back towards his bedroom. “You’re going to do it anyway, and the sooner that you’re through, the sooner I can go back to _trying_ to pretend that my life is normal.”  
  
The Aurors stood in a clump, looking uncomfortable. Harry knew they wouldn’t relish being put on display before the entire town of Hogsmeade as a group of bullies who wouldn’t leave a poor defenseless hero alone. That had been the entire point of this deception in the first place.  
  
Harry went back into his bedroom and sat down on the bed, keeping the door open. He put his head in his hands and uttered many dejected sighs. His wand, out of sight in his right sleeve, was easy to manipulate so that he could cast more charms. The entire town of Hogsmeade was going to see the way that the Aurors searched their house for “Dark artifacts,” too.  
  
They did their best, but once again, Draco and Severus had planned out things too thoroughly. Casting the particular spells that bedeviled the Aurors now had taken longer than actually creating the traps. As they picked up each artifact, it sparkled with brilliant light and a soft, sexless voice announced its purpose and any enchantments on it.   
  
“Toothbrush. Enchanted to keep the teeth white and clean when used regularly.”  
  
“Mirror. Enchanted to talk and give flattering opinions on clothes and hair, or true ones when asked.”  
  
“Chair. Cushioning Charm present.”  
  
As the toll of harmless objects accumulated, and as Harry arranged himself in new attitudes—staring at the wall, sighing and contemplating his hands, lying back on his bed and assuming a martyred expression—he could feel the embarrassment of the Aurors as an almost palpable ripple in the air. A few of them did shout spells that were meant to detect Dark enchantments and artifacts, and had nothing happen. The most “incriminating” things they discovered were Draco’s books on Defense Against the Dark Arts and a few poisonous Potions ingredients, like belladonna, which were so common that there was no use in arresting Severus for possessing them.  
  
Draco and Severus had carefully scrubbed the house free of every trace of Dark magic, which they were more sensitive to than Harry was. Any books that could be considered dubious were stored with Hermione at the moment (she had insisted on investigating them first to be sure they weren’t _truly_ dubious). An underground chamber beneath the lab, warded in three different ways to be undetectable, held any ingredient that the Aurors might have pounced on.  
  
Despite that, there was still a risk with the Aurors so frustrated and so determined to arrest Harry and his bondmates for _some_ crime. That was another reason for the public show in front of Hogsmeade. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when several of the Aurors uttered sharp exclamations of disgust and left the house, Apparating back to the Ministry.  
  
The blonde Auror did come after him again, storming into the room and staring at him. “I know that you’ve practiced Dark magic,” she said, in a low, ugly voice, “and concealed the results. Where did you do it? What spells did you use to hide the results?”  
  
Harry sat up and stared at her with indignation that he didn’t have to feign. “What are you talking about? I didn’t use Dark magic even against Griselda Huxley, who nearly _killed_ me. I’m not going to claim I did just to gratify some little Ministry lackey who—”  
  
There was a ringing sound as she slapped him on the cheek. Harry grasped the handprint and grimaced, but he felt a sharp glee, too.  
  
She’d done _that_ in front of Hogsmeade.  
  
 _Stay where you are_ , he told Severus and Draco flatly when they started to move forwards. _She only made my face sting, and she’ll pay for it a lot more than I will. So will the Ministry.  
  
She still hurt you_ , Draco hissed to him. _Let me curse her.  
  
After we worked so hard to ensure that we can’t be accused of using Dark magic_? Harry sent a ripple of disgust through the bond, which caused Draco to yelp in his head. _Yes, that would be a wise idea. No, Draco, be still and let me handle this. I know that you’re perfectly capable of protecting me_ , he added, when it seemed as though Draco would bristle at his orders and contradict them just because they were Harry’s orders. _But right now, I’m the one in the open, and the one who has to handle the situation._  
  
Draco subsided with curious completeness. Harry told himself that he would remember that phrasing, which seemed to reassure Draco, and then glanced at the ashen-faced Auror.  
  
“I didn’t mean to do that!” she blurted, as if that would make it any better.  
  
“Not in public, at any rate,” Harry said, blinking at her and cradling his cheek, doing his best to paint an astonished expression across his face.  
  
“Not at all!” The Auror shut her eyes as if she could actually see everyone in Hogsmeade staring at her. She took a deep breath. “If you would just tell us where the Dark artifacts are—”  
  
“We don’t have any.” Harry rose to his feet and gestured to the door. He would have liked to point his wand at her, but he knew that would make the chance of their losing Hogsmeade’s sympathy greater. “I think you should leave now. You’ve made a thorough search, and we cooperated with you. What more can you possibly want from us?”  
  
“You had traps set up when we entered the house.” The Auror stared at him from beneath a streak of mud across her forehead that she still hadn’t managed to remove. Chicken feathers dangled into her eyes like the ornaments of a headdress. “That doesn’t sound to me as if you were cooperating.”  
  
“We didn’t know who you were at first,” Harry said. “And we’ve had quite a few enemies attack us. When we realized that you were Aurors, then our cooperation was instant. Even then, our ‘traps’ entangled and confused you. The most injury anyone sustained was swallowing a little mud or spewing up some vomit. I don’t see what else we could have done. If we had no wards set up, then you could rightfully have claimed that we deserved every injury we’ve taken.”  
  
The Auror shook with rage for a moment. Harry could see the temptation to do something unforgivable warring in her eyes with the consciousness that she was on display before Hogsmeade.  
  
Harry sighed and turned away from her. “Carry the tale of what happened here to your Minister,” he said. “But you should know that we only defended ourselves, and in a way that wouldn’t leave anyone permanently injured. Indeed, I’ve taken greater pain than you have.” He pointedly moved his hand away from his cheek so that the mark of her slap would stand out.  
  
The Auror turned and stomped out of the room. Harry let her go, falling back on his bed and staring at the ceiling as he asked Severus, _You’ll have the cleansing spells move through the house to get rid of any nasty hexes they might have left behind?  
  
Of course. What do you take me for?_   
  
Harry smiled. _Occasionally forgetful_. He took a deep breath. _That didn’t go too badly, did it?  
  
No_ , Draco’s voice said smugly in his head. _Not least because we all played our parts the way we were supposed to.  
  
Yes, Draco, you can stop bragging now_ , Harry said, but made sure to infuse the words with enough affection that Draco wouldn’t take offense. He was privately in awe of how well they had worked together and wondering when they would have a chance to do it again.  
  
 _Since this is the most closeness I will ever have with them._  
  
*  
  
Severus stiffened when a young wizard walked into the front garden, but he recognized him as someone who worked in Honeydukes and permitted him to approach. It would do no good to recruit the sympathy of the village if they then drove away all the sympathizers when they came near.  
  
“I saw what happened,” the man said quietly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He was tall, with curly dark hair and blue eyes that rivaled Harry’s in brightness. “I’m Cadell Caesarion. I wanted—I mean, could I talk to Harry Potter?” He spoke Harry’s name as if it were a title in itself. “I recognized the Auror who slapped him. She’s my second cousin.” He grimaced and ducked his head as if he expected Severus to aim a curse at him. “I wanted to apologize for my family.”  
  
“You don’t need to do that,” Harry said, coming around the corner of the house from the side garden, where he’d been removing traps they hadn’t had to use. He was wiping his forehead free of sweat; though it was a cool day, he’d been using his magic at a rate sufficient to burn up much energy, Severus judged. “I know about families, and if I started apologizing for some of the things _my_ cousin’s done, I would never have gone to Hogwarts.”  
  
Caesarion smiled. The smile had a depth to it, and his eyes on Harry had a spark of interest, that made Severus feel the need to cast a curse after all. “All right, then. Will you allow me to apologize for myself, because I didn’t believe at first that you hadn’t turned to Dark magic?” He held out his hand. “I’m going to write a letter to the Minister tomorrow.”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry said, reaching out and clasping Caesarion’s wrist. “It’s been bloody awful trying to get anyone to believe us.”  
  
“I can see how it must have been.” Caesarion was staring openly now, as if captivated by Harry’s eyes. Harry couldn’t fail to notice it. Severus felt the bond stir and eddy with opposing currents of embarrassment and pleasure.  
  
Draco came bounding out of the house, his wand leveled. He pulled up in confusion when he saw Harry talking with someone who didn’t seem to be an enemy, and glanced at Severus. _What’s the matter_? he asked silently, his thoughts shielded in such a manner that Severus knew Harry would not hear him. _He seems all right.  
  
He admires Harry too much,_ Severus said, trying to keep a growl out of his thoughts and not succeeding.  
  
Draco moved a step forwards, but Severus said sharply, _No. Harry will not thank us if we interfere._   
  
Draco stopped, clenching his fists. Harry, who would ordinarily have observed such a thing at once and asked what was wrong, didn’t notice, instead laughing at Caesarion’s tale of how people in Honeydukes had stopped and stared at the walls when the image of the Aurors stumbling about the house appeared there.   
  
_Maybe it is for the best_ , Severus said, though even his mind felt choked as he uttered the words. _Harry needs a chance to be with someone who is not us, and someone male. This might teach him, if it progresses, whether he likes men at all._  
  
Draco stirred, and the bond between them glowed with yearning aqua jealousy in Severus’s mind. _But we want him. If he could only see that!  
  
He has the idea that we are exclusive lovers and would not welcome a third into our bed._ Severus nodded as the force of Draco’s incredulity washed through his mind. _I know, but there is nothing to be done at the moment but put up with it. We cannot force him to join us.  
  
Maybe, but I don’t have to watch_, Draco snapped, and turned back to the house.  
  
Then Harry glanced around and said with a bright smile, “Oh, Draco! This is Cadell Caesarion. Cadell, my other bondmate, Draco Malfoy.”  
  
It said much for Draco’s newly acquired maturity, Severus decided, that he could go through the introduction with a credible smile fixed on his face and resist the temptation to crush his rival’s wrist.  
  
Severus feared that his own fantasies of driving Caesarion away from Harry’s side did not speak well for _his_ maturity.


	18. Chapter 18

  
Swanfair greeted Harry briskly as she stepped through the front door of the house. “Is it your plan to humiliate the Ministry into compliance, then?”  
  
Harry took her cloak, giving it a shake to ensure that he would feel any weapons concealed in it, and looked her over carefully. She didn’t seem unduly agitated; her cheeks were pale, her tone chiding instead of upset. Harry had wondered how she would react to the fact that they hadn’t discussed their latest tactic with her before they used it. So far, it seemed the answer was “well.”  
  
 _Remember that Swanfair is an actor born, and she will not show you anything that she does not want you to see_ , said Severus’s voice crisply in his head.  
  
 _Then what’s the point of looking for clues in her expression and gestures_? Harry snapped back, but he managed to compose his face by the time that Swanfair looked at him again. Speaking to two people at once, one in front of him and one inside his mind, was confusing, and he had made Severus and Draco promise not to babble when he was actually talking to Swanfair. “I decided that humiliation was as good a tactic as any,” he said evenly. “After all, the Minister hasn’t responded to threats and reasonable outrage so far.”  
  
“It is an innovative tactic, not one I would have expected of you. Some Gryffindors, or those who have been members of House Gryffindor, consider themselves too pure to use it.” Swanfair sat down on the couch in the ground floor library and offered him a thin smile. “Most interesting are the details of your childhood. Are those true, or did you make them up?”  
  
Harry wanted to grumble under his breath. Draco and Severus had absorbed those details in silence when they’d asked him for something sufficiently pathetic, and Harry still didn’t know what they’d thought of them. He’d agreed to reveal them only because he knew that they would get lost in the flood of media coverage of the Auror raid and half the people who read them wouldn’t believe them anyway. Of _course_ Swanfair would focus in on the one area where her penetration wasn’t wanted.  
  
But he didn’t see much point in denying them when he’d put them out in public of his own free will. And they couldn’t hurt him anymore. He would never see the Dursleys again. If Swanfair tried to use the psychology caused by his abuse against him—not that Harry could see how she would—then Draco and Severus would be sure to tell him she was doing it and bring her up sharply.  
  
“Those are true,” he said. “In case anyone checked on them, I didn’t want our enemies to be able to accuse me of lying.”  
  
Swanfair’s smile froze for a moment. Then she said, “There are many varying definitions of strength and weakness.”  
  
Harry barely managed to keep from blinking. _What the fuck is she on about now?_   
  
“I have never subscribed to the idea that one definition, and one definition only, is true, and the rest false,” Swanfair said. “Each has its own portion of truth, and those portions depend on the existence of other kinds for their sense.” She was leaning forwards, peering intently at Harry, as if he should give her a wise nod and respond with some other kind of platitude.  
  
Harry had no idea what she was driving at, and Draco and Severus remained silent in his head, which was a good sign that they were as baffled as he was. He shrugged at last, when he realized that Swanfair really was waiting for some sign before she went on, and said, “The only kind of strength I know much about is courage. I’ve had a lot of experience of that.”  
  
“But you can learn more.” Swanfair smiled. It was the warmest expression Harry had ever seen from her. “I am now _confident_ that you can, after seeing your performance.” She rose to her feet and turned to find her cloak. Harry stood up as well, blinking. He had thought that she’d come to discuss strategy, and that meant she’d be here for at least an hour.  
  
“Our party needs a concrete set of tactics in the short term,” he warned her. “I’ve already had several disappointed letters because we don’t seem to be planning anything.”  
  
Swanfair ducked her head, the corners of her mouth twitching in a way that Severus identified in a murmur, when Harry asked, as an attempt to conceal laughter. “Shacklebolt is Minister on sufferance alone,” she said. “We needed a strong hand in the wake of the war, to control the Ministry and separate those who were loyal to the Dark Lord from those who were compelled into his service by fear.” She looked at Harry, her face smooth and stern again. “Scrimgeour is dead, so that we have no one who was legitimately elected to the position ready to take over again. We shall demand an election, of course.”  
  
Once she said it, it sounded like the only reasonable thing to do. Harry wished, just for once, that he could get ahead of her and suggest something that would take _her_ aback. Now, he had to nod wisely and act as if the thought had been at the top of his mind all along. “Yes, we shall,” he said. “I’ll write letters to Mrs. Zabini and the others who contacted me telling them that. Should I ask them to keep it secret?”  
  
Swanfair worked her hair out from under her cloak. “What need? This is not a plan to be approached with an air of deception. What we plan to do is not illegal, but an enactment of the rights of every British wizarding citizen. Let rumor flourish. It will be another thing to trouble Shacklebolt.” She paused and cast Harry a sly sideways glance. “Always assuming that his ulcers are not enough.”  
  
“Oh, he’s having trouble with them?” Harry assumed an earnest expression with difficulty, since both Severus and Draco were laughing in his mind. “My uncle had trouble with them, too.”  
  
Thwarted in her search for whatever she had hoped to find in his face, Swanfair nodded curtly and stepped out the door. As usual, Harry watched her to the edge of the garden and beyond the wards, then shut the door gently behind her.  
  
 _It’s difficult to conduct serious meetings when I have to listen to two gales of laughter_ , he snapped to his bondmates.  
  
 _That doesn’t matter_ , Draco said. _The important thing is that Shacklebolt has the ulcers and that you didn’t stumble too badly in front of Swanfair._   
  
His condescension rasped like sandpaper. Harry bristled and started to retort, but Severus spoke aloud, stepping out of the sitting room where he had been concealed. “I am more interested in what she meant by definitions of strength and weakness.”  
  
“So am I,” Harry said. “But you heard everything we said to each other, and I didn’t see anything especially incriminating on her face.”  
  
“I will sit in on the next meeting, I think.” Severus turned in the direction of the library, probably to look up references in obscure books that would make sense of Swanfair’s oblique words. Draco headed for the potions lab, a relieved expression on his face; he had made no secret of the fact that he thought the meeting with Swanfair was holding him away from some important brewing. Harry shrugged and went to open the front door.  
  
“Where are you going?” That was Draco’s voice, sharp in a way that made Harry pause and turn around. Draco had his eyes narrowed and his hand clenched on the handle of the door to the potions lab. His knuckles were white, Harry saw in surprise. He shot a bewildered glance at Severus, and saw that he was looking at Harry with a level gaze, his face more blank than he usually made it around them.  
  
“To visit Cadell,” Harry said slowly. “He invited me on a private tour of Honeydukes to try some of the new chocolate that the owners are making. I told you that yesterday.” He could have sent a number of sharp thoughts about their failing memory, but he chose not to. From the way Draco glared at him, Harry wondered if he had been thinking too loud again and they had picked up the thoughts anyway.  
  
“I see,” Draco said. “A _private tour_.”  
  
Harry glared back now. He didn’t know exactly what Draco was implying, but he knew that was the same tone Draco might have used to talk about Ginny, and he didn’t want Cadell to wind up on the wrong end of Draco’s wand. _Especially now, when everyone will be watching us to see if we actually do ever hurt our enemies or our friends. We could persuade Ginny to keep it quiet because the Weasleys are so close to me. Cadell doesn’t have reason to do that._   
  
“Yes,” Harry ended up saying, when Draco said nothing else. “That’s right. I told you about it yesterday,” he repeated. “I’ll be careful, and I think Hogsmeade is safer for me than most other places right now, given the sympathy we know most members of the village feel for us.” He glanced at Severus for support, and found his face still blank. Harry sighed in frustration. “Look, if I vanish or get in trouble, at least you’ll know exactly where to look.”  
  
“That is true,” Severus said, and Draco turned and stared at him. Harry wondered if Severus had sent a fleeting thought to Draco. They’d already discovered that two of them could hold private conversations the third couldn’t hear.  
  
At the moment, Harry barely felt any jealousy about being left out. As long as Severus told Draco not to be an idiot and let him leave, then everything would be fine. Harry had long ago accepted that he would never understand all the sources of Draco’s moods and the way they changed like Dudley’s desires for new toys.  
  
“Let him go,” Severus said, at which Draco looked mulish. “You know what we agreed upon.”  
  
Harry sighed in relief. _It looks like they agreed that Cadell isn’t dangerous, or at least Severus thinks that and is trying to convince Draco._  
  
“I don’t—” Draco started.  
  
“Your opinion does not count in this case.” Severus’s voice deepened to a hiss. “Harry is right that the young man is well-known, and because he works in Hogsmeade, the area is safer for Harry than visiting his friends in some remote place or even than flying in a meadow. You _know_ that, Draco.”  
  
Draco strained forwards as if again an invisible barrier, his eyes fastened to Severus now. Then he glanced at Harry, gave a clipped nod, muttered something about how their lives were dependent on him and he should remember that, and disappeared into the potions lab with a resounding slam of the door.  
  
“I apologize for Draco,” Severus said, with extreme dignity. “I believe that he is still troubled by the incident of the Gut Chewing Curse.”  
  
Harry managed a shaky laugh. The anger on Draco’s face had made him wince. He wondered what he would have seen if he’d opened the bonds fully. “For that matter, _I’m_ still troubled by it. Tell him I understand.” He looked earnestly at Severus. “You had the chance to read Cadell’s mind when he came up to us in the garden. You don’t think that he means me harm, do you?”  
  
“Illegal use of Legilimency, Mr. Potter?” Severus asked, in the same tone that he had used when Harry asked if he would be assigned a detention at Hogwarts. “That is a dark suggestion you are making.”  
  
Harry folded his arms. “Come off it. I know you did.”  
  
“I saw no harm in him,” Severus said. “A pleasant young man, with a normal life and normal memories. I am sure that he has never carried the Dark Mark or lost most of the people he cared about because of the orders of a madman.” He turned about and stalked towards the library with his spine stiff.  
  
Harry watched him in silence, respecting the bitterness in his voice. _I shouldn’t forget what he’s gone through. And I should show him my memories as soon as I can work out how to make the bond show images like it does thoughts. Maybe that will ease some of his burden._  
  
He still couldn’t help a lightening of his mood as he ducked out of the house and shut the door behind him, though. Severus and Draco had gone through so much, and they sometimes made statements so subtle, that being with them was like living in a constant sea of unexpressed meaning. Harry was happy to be associating with someone as simple and straightforward as Cadell for once.  
  
*  
  
Draco stood with his hands on the edge of the Taylor Transfigured Jointing-Table and shut his eyes. Bitterness and rage and jealousy roiled around in him and came together like a blood clot, choking off his breath and his sight.   
  
He had thought that Harry would tire of Caesarion when it became clear that the young man was just simple and straightforward, and nothing more. He hadn’t shared any history with Harry. He didn’t share a bond. He made him laugh and smile, but Harry’s friends did that, too, and he wasn’t always running off to spend time with _them_ and leaving Severus and Draco behind.  
  
Besides, he didn’t look at any of his friends with the same speculative gleam in his eye that he looked at Caesarion with. Maybe he didn’t know about that gleam—and how could someone reach the age of eighteen and still be as _innocent_ as all that, especially when Draco knew he’d had sex?—but it was there. He preferred Caesarion to Draco and Severus as far as looks went. That was clear.  
  
 _How can he_? Draco wanted to pace back and forth, but Severus had taught him too well to control himself in the potions lab, lest he break something or disturb a delicate simmering cauldron. So he stood still and forced himself to plunge into the swirling darkness of his own feelings, stronger than he had realized they could become, even with the provocation of Harry’s preference of someone else to drive them. _I know I’m handsomer than Caesarion. I know that Severus could make Harry moan, if all he wants is someone who would be good in bed. I know that we’re sparkling and witty conversationalists, and I know that he’s laughed in our presence. We worked well together when the Aurors came. I don’t understand what he might be seeking outside the bond._   
  
Draco gave a mighty shudder and opened his eyes. He didn’t understand any of it. Even Harry’s emotions provided no clue; they were mostly foamy bafflement at the idea that Draco and Severus were so hostile.  
  
That meant that he had to stop trying to guess what Harry wanted and what would impress him, and do something he did understand. Maybe Harry didn’t want Caesarion so much as he thought that Caesarion didn’t have Draco and Severus’s flaws.  
  
He had expressed dissatisfaction with Draco’s temper. Draco could work on improving that. He had shown that he was disappointed with the way Draco treated and worked with his friends. He could try that.  
  
And of course he would work on potions as well. Because even though Harry didn’t know enough about brewing to be impressed by that, Draco wanted to become better at that for _himself_ , and for the look of approval in Severus’s eyes.  
  
 _And self-confidence is always attractive_.  
  
Draco turned around and got to work.  
  
*  
  
Severus stared unseeing at the words in front of him for long moments. He was imagining, instead, what Caesarion was probably saying to Harry as they strolled through the aisles of Honeydukes.  
  
When he looked down, his fingers had pressed creases into the page. He cleared his throat in embarrassment and returned to his studying. He managed to read three sentences before his mind went wandering again.  
  
Draco had proven more powerless to restrain his jealousy than Severus had suspected he might, the bond between them raging with storm and tsunami. In truth, he could not blame his lover. Harry was exasperatingly _oblivious_. Severus knew why, but he had not the least idea, as of yet, how to challenge that drowning in the abyss of the conventionality without making Harry feel as if they were forcing him into an epiphany he did not want to have.  
  
Severus would ordinarily have acted without regard for the feelings of the other party involved. After all, what did it matter what Harry wanted? He would _need_ to acknowledge plain truth. And it was plain truth that Severus and Draco wanted him—as Harry had admitted he knew—and that they could please each other better than any other partners, concerning the bonds between them.  
  
 _Harry does not think that way_.  
  
It was a struggle for Severus to force his mind into the cramped confines of thought that Harry seemed to prefer, but he managed at last, because Harry himself had confessed what the problem was. If he hadn’t, God knew how long Severus would have knocked his head against an unyielding wall.  
  
Harry saw love relationships as pairs, and nothing else. He probably even valued that, because there was a certain romance about the idea that only one other person in the world would ever perfectly understand you, and that that person would never leave you alone or turn on you.   
  
_How can he still believe that after the way his link to Weasley ended?_   
  
Then Severus snorted. There, he had enough experience with Gryffindors to provide the answer. Rather than give up an ideal, they would assume that something was merely an imperfect rendition of that ideal. Harry had probably already decided that his bond with Weasley was not an example of true love, and so it was natural and necessary for it to end. Maybe he didn’t think that Severus and Draco had true love, either, but he was not about to interfere and try to find a place between them.  
  
 _A place between us_. A brightly colored picture distracted Severus for a time, and then he sighed in disgust and put it aside.  
  
 _Draco has been a bad influence on my libido._  
  
Back to Harry. The boy would still be looking for one person who understood him perfectly, one who was his match in every way. That perfect conception was another barrier in their way, as he was all too conscious of the gaps in understanding between himself, Draco, and Severus.  
  
But they would struggle through it. They must.  
  
Severus started at the force of his own thought. _When did yielding Harry up to the clumsy attentions of another lover cease to be a choice? It may be the choice that we have to make, if he is content with Caesarion or finds that contentment with someone else._  
  
And yet, the thought of that happening was a gnawing within Severus. He wanted Harry to enter their bed of his own free will, yes, but he also wanted him because Harry was generous, and fiercely protective of them, and able to accept the inevitable when it was shoved into his face—something Severus had not previously believed of him—and a good listener when he chose to exercise that faculty, and absurdly shy when he did not need to be, and beautiful.   
  
_I want him. And I deserve to have what I want, after what I suffered in the service of both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord._   
  
Severus found himself faintly smiling, in a way that renewed his determination to outwait Harry’s experiment or flirtation or dalliance with Caesarion.  
  
 _I simply never believed that I would want Harry Potter._  
  
*  
  
“And this is where they make the chocolate that covers the outside of most of the magical sweets.”  
  
Harry knew his eyes were wide with fascination as he leaped down a step into the vast room behind Honeydukes, but he didn’t care. It was Draco who would have taunted him for showing too little knowledge around a new thing or person. Cadell didn’t seem to have that capacity.  
  
Cadell, in fact, was the most _relaxed_ person Harry had been around in some time. There was always a subtle tension when he was with Draco and Severus; Harry was reminded that they were high-strung, with reason to be, and that any gesture that seemed innocent to him might rouse a thousand bad memories for them. Cadell, though, was as straightforward as Harry had thought he would be. He laughed at Harry’s simplistic jokes, and he discussed sweets with a relish that showed he enjoyed them instead of having fine tastes in food that Harry couldn’t understand, and he was willing to explain things that Harry didn’t understand a second time.   
  
Harry hadn’t realized how much he was straining to keep up with the magical theories that Draco and Severus handed him until he felt a knot of tension in his brain come unwound with Cadell.   
  
_They’re more intelligent than me_ , he thought. _I was sure I’d accepted that, but apparently I haven’t done it yet._   
  
The machinery Cadell was showing him now was a gleaming assembly of parts, some of which looked like broomsticks and some of which resembled the wrenches that Harry had sometimes seen Uncle Vernon using. Harry looked around and watched as the machines moved up and down in the burning light of the torches, casting sweets into deep basins, pouring streams of chocolate over them, measuring and weighing huge cups of them, and then packing and wrapping them in neat boxes.  
  
“I’m surprised you do it with machines,” he said, the first thing that came into his head. “Wouldn’t most people use house-elves?”  
  
Cadell grinned at him and ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. Harry grinned back. He found that gesture endearing. “Well, they probably would, but Grandmother and Grandfather don’t like to. They think it’s slavery. I have another cousin, a Squib, who’s a great engineer. He studied Muggle machines and figured out how to build magical equivalents. This way, we don’t have to do everything ourselves, but we don’t have to employ anyone who won’t like the work, either.”  
  
“My friend Hermione Granger would like them,” Harry said happily. _Yes, there are things I can talk about with Cadell that it would drive Severus and Draco mad if I mentioned._ “She wants to free house-elves from slavery.”  
  
“Really?” Cadell led him among the pumping machines, towards a back door that had a torch stuck in a sconce on it and a carving that resembled a dragon twining up it. “What are her arguments? Most people I know assume that house-elves just like to serve.”  
  
“She doesn’t think that that desire is natural.” Cadell opened the door for him. Harry nodded his thanks and stepped out into a small garden full of tall purple and yellow flowers. He looked around in wonder. Giant butterflies, most of them blue with black edgings to their wings, danced among the flowers. “She thinks it was bred in,” Harry finished absently, but he was no longer thinking of Hermione and house-elves. “Where did this come from? I didn’t think anything was behind Honeydukes.”  
  
“My family’s garden. My grandparents had to cast privacy charms on it because third-years from Hogwarts were getting into it and ripping up the flowers.” Cadell rolled his eyes and snorted as he shut the door behind him. “How do you like it?”  
  
Harry gave him a curious glance. One thing his association with Severus and Draco had been good for was teaching him how to read expressions. Cadell looked nervous, biting his lip and darting his eyes around as if he were wondering how he could improve the garden for Harry. “It’s beautiful,” Harry said honestly. “Is it a practical garden, too? I mean, do you have vegetables and—and Potions ingredients? Or is it just flowers?”  
  
“Flowers, for the most part.” Cadell led him further into the garden. There were small dirt paths among the flowerbeds, Harry saw when he squinted, though from a distance, the garden looked like one blazing mass of thick greenery. “My grandmother says that it’s bad enough she has to make her own sweets, she wants to buy her vegetables like everybody else.” He led Harry around the tight corner of a stone wall, which seemed to be there mostly to give morning glories a place to go up, and gestured ahead of him. “There are hothouse charms on it to make it grow this way in March, of course,” he muttered. “Still, I think it looks well enough.”  
  
Harry looked up and felt his breath catch. In the center of the garden was an enormous blue flower, bigger than some trees Harry had seen, edged with black on the petals so that it resembled one of the butterflies at rest. More butterflies surrounded it in drifting, undulating chains, and a beehive hummed under one of the giant leaves. “It’s pretty good,” he agreed. “Are there hothouse charms on the rest of the garden, too?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” Cadell said. “My grandmother never wants to be without flowers.” He hesitated so long that Harry turned towards him, wondering what was wrong.  
  
Cadell reached out a hand. His eyes were bright and uncertain.  
  
“Look,” Cadell said. “I want you. I’ve known that since I saw the way you smiled at me in your garden the other day. But I don’t know if you want to date me. I thought I’d ask, though.” He finished with a quiet dignity that Harry thought was impressive, given his pale cheeks and the way he had almost started to stutter. Harry would have stuttered worse than that if he was asking someone to date him.  
  
“I—don’t know,” Harry said.   
  
He forced himself to look carefully at Cadell, the way, he suddenly realized, that he’d carefully been avoiding doing since they met. He didn’t want to seem too impetuous. He didn’t want to irritate Draco and Severus, since they wanted him but would never break their love relationship for him.  
  
But did that mean he had to avoid dating forever, just because his bondmates would have liked to have sex with him? Harry didn’t see why. In time, their desire would fade, because someone might feel physical passion but not feel love because of it. And they were already in love with each other.  
  
“I’ll understand if you don’t want to, because you don’t like me or you don’t date men.” Despite his stately words, Cadell blushed. “But I thought I would ask. It would be stupid of me to simply let the chance pass by if it turned out that you _did_ like to date men, after all.”  
  
“I’ve only ever dated a girl,” Harry said. “But sometimes I’ve thought…” And that was the truth, even though his thoughts so far were limited to a few admiring glances at Draco and Severus and the blended dreams they’d had.  
  
But why should he allow his bondmates to set a limit on his life? There was really no reason. He didn’t want to remain celibate for the rest of his life because it might hurt them. They certainly showed no sign of noticing his jealousy, except for the conversation Severus had had with him the other day when they were setting the traps up in the house. And Harry didn’t know what to make of that conversation, honestly.  
  
 _Just like so many other conversations I have with them. They’re deep and subtle and experienced in all kinds of politics and magical theory, and I’m…not._  
  
Cadell was more like him. Harry allowed himself, for the first time, to consciously admire the crisp curls of Cadell’s hair and the blue of his eyes. That blue was really startling, more like a tropical sky than the color of Ron’s eyes. Or Draco’s, for that matter.  
  
He stepped forwards, reached out and clamped his hands down on Cadell’s shoulders—he had the vague idea that it was a good idea to be firm when you were kissing a bloke—and kissed him clumsily.  
  
Cadell reached up with a satisfyingly surprised exclamation, caught Harry’s face, and redirected some of his force into a better kiss. Harry smirked a bit and let himself be so directed. His tongue tingled when Cadell’s touched it, and that wasn’t so different from what he’d done with Ginny. He stepped closer, pleased to find that he was only an inch or so shorter than Cadell. Being around Severus had the tendency of causing him to exaggerate height differences in his mind.  
  
A few hazy minutes passed, and Harry decided that he could learn to like kissing a bloke, and that Cadell had an agile tongue, and that the thick smell of flowers all around them made a nice accompaniment to things. Cadell shifted sideways, trailing one hand down Harry’s chest, and curled his fingers around the bottom of Harry’s shirt.  
  
Harry stepped back and shook his head. He knew he looked flushed and he was panting, which meant he also looked ridiculous. But he didn’t think he was ready for more just yet. His erection was embarrassing enough.   
  
“Well,” said Cadell, his voice thick and seeming to travel from an extra distance before the words emerged from his throat. “What did you think?”  
  
Harry licked his lips and said, “I think it’s something I want to try more of.”  
  
Cadell’s smile made Harry feel as if he were standing in a private beam of sunlight. “Good. I was so sure—I didn’t know if I’d be good enough for you.”  
  
Harry grinned back at him. _I know the feeling_ , he wanted to say. _Sometimes I wonder if I’d be good enough for my bondmates. I wasn’t good enough for Ginny._  
  
But he didn’t want to compare his old relationship with the new one, so he said, “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers. I want some companionship and loyalty and good sex, that’s all. And someone who respects my bondmates.”  
  
“I can certainly give you that.”  
  
Cadell reached out and cupped his chin, initiating the kiss this time. Harry closed his eyes and indulged in some uncomplicated happiness for once.  
  
*  
  
“But I don’t think the pamphlets should say anything about pure-bloods.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes and told himself that he had promised to hold his temper with Harry’s friends. That he hadn’t made the promise to Harry didn’t matter. In fact, making a promise in private was a better bond, because that meant he was unlikely to give up in disgust when Harry gave no sign of noticing his sacrifices.  
  
 _As he hasn’t so far._  
  
“It’s really no different than writing pamphlets about different issues and distributing them to people we know would be interested,” he said evenly. “Some pamphlets emphasizing why Minister Shacklebolt isn’t best for Muggleborns will go to them. Why can’t we have pamphlets emphasizing why the Minister isn’t good for pure-bloods?”  
  
“Bringing blood into it is a stupid idea.”  
  
 _Spoken with all the assurance of someone who idealizes politics_ , Draco thought, and opened his eyes again. They were in the library, and Granger was trying to make the chair in which she sat look like a throne. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she fixed him with an earnest gaze that made Draco have to check his sigh.   
  
_Yes, she thinks that you can do everything you need to with a few dazzling moves and shining words, and then everyone will fall into line. I bet she’s read_ novels _about it. But of course everything is simpler in a novel, or you couldn’t tell a story._  
  
Draco knew what kind of story he would have liked to be in: one where the plot ran straight and smoothly to the end, with appropriate rewards for the hero, him. It didn’t matter that other people probably wouldn’t want to read it. _He_ would find it interesting, and he thought that his opinion ought to matter, as the protagonist.  
  
“But blood already is in it,” Draco said, “and trying to ignore the shadow of the Dark Lord and the war would be even more stupid. Pure-bloods and Muggleborns are already suspicious of each other, Granger, for reasons that have nothing to do with Harry. It’s better to openly acknowledge the differences and try to forge alliances that way.”  
  
“No,” Granger said, with determination that reminded Draco of a goat. “It’s better to treat everyone equally, whether they’re a pure-blood or a Muggleborn.”  
  
Draco snorted at her, inwardly proud of himself for not throwing up his hands. “You’re not arguing for equal treatment, you’re arguing for _identical_ treatment. Which is precisely what won’t work.”  
  
Granger hesitated. Draco gave her a faint smile. He knew the swift blinks Granger’s eyes made. He had finally caught her attention with his wordplay and given her something to think about.  
  
“I didn’t think about that,” she said. “But would they _resent_ identical treatment?”  
  
“Yes,” Draco said instantly. “You might value all people the same way, Granger, but you can’t _treat_ them in the same way. Would you demand that someone who’s missing his leg walk like a person with two of them? Would you demand that someone who’s been tortured and abused half his life act exactly like someone who had a happy childhood?”  
  
His mind returned, briefly, to Harry’s revelations about his childhood. He had put them aside for the moment because he had no idea what to do with them. Harry didn’t seem to require comfort. He didn’t seem to think much about them at all, once he had realized that Severus and Draco were not about to scorn him for “weakness.” Draco could feel a throb in the bond between him and Severus now and then that he thought was Severus turning over those same facts and trying to make them fit.  
  
There were certainly traces of the childhood Harry had led in the adult he was now, but Draco knew it would be folly to try and link everything Harry did with his abuse, and they had enough problems understanding Harry already.  
  
Right now, for example, Harry was with Caesarion and the bond ran with happiness like a chuckling river, dotted here and there with flashes of pleasure. Draco had to ignore it or else he knew that he _would_ lose his temper with Granger.  
  
“I never thought of that.” Granger’s voice was low, but it held no resentment. She was the only person Draco had ever met who didn’t resent challenges to her ideas because they gave her new perspectives that she hadn’t thought of before. She looked up at him with a smile and thrust her hand out. “Thanks, Malfoy. You gave me something to think about.”  
  
 _And that’s just what I like_ , Draco completed the sentence silently. He managed to return the smile and the handshake. Sometimes his skin still felt as if it were crawling when he was around Muggleborns, but so many of his parents’ prejudices had proven wrong that he was embarrassed to acknowledge that now. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Now let’s think about what candidate we’re going to support in the election.”  
  
Granger gave him a startled look. “We’re calling for a general election without knowing that?”  
  
“Yes,” Draco said. “But Swanfair has a list of candidates.” He fetched out a crinkling sheet of parchment that had been folded in his pocket. “I’ve written something about their politics beside each name. Look at them and tell me what you think.”  
  
Granger bent attentively over the parchment, and Draco nodded in satisfaction. He had managed to make something productive out of this meeting, and he and Granger were on the road to being comrades, if not friends.  
  
 _And Harry was not here to see it._   
  
Draco took a deep breath. _Not everything I do has reference to him. I should value this because it’s my own accomplishment, not because he would value it._   
  
And, after that, it was a little easier to stop paying attention to the bubbles of joy breaking from the bond with Harry and concentrate on politics.  
  
*  
  
Severus waited outside the training room for Ledbetter to depart. Normally he left first and Harry and Draco lingered, but Draco had a new potion that he wanted to experiment with and Harry had a pile of letters to answer. That left the old Auror in the training room, deliberately gathering himself up with groans that made Severus twitch in reluctant sympathy. Sometimes he had felt like that after a long day of watching over Potions classes, constantly on the alert for anything to go wrong, though he was younger than Ledbetter.  
  
The man stepped out of the room at last, and paused, with his eyes fixed on Severus. They reminded Severus of a bulldog’s eyes. Ledbetter was someone who would clench his teeth into a single enemy and hold on until they died if he had to.   
  
_If he had to_. Severus reminded himself that first impressions were not always right, and that Ledbetter had shown swiftness as well as deliberation in removing himself from the Minister’s employ.  
  
Severus bowed slightly. “I have something I wish to speak to you about, Ledbetter,” he said.  
  
“Lead the way, Snape.” Ledbetter’s voice was low and grating. He kept one hand on his wand. Severus didn’t mind. His fingers were not far from his own. It would have been the height of foolishness to do otherwise, when he knew that this man disliked and distrusted him.   
  
They went into the kitchen, where Severus had a pot of tea ready and waiting. He heated it with a Warming Charm and held a cup out to Ledbetter. He accepted it but simply cradled it in his palm, not drinking it.   
  
_Of course not_ , Severus thought. _I might have poisoned it_. He could appreciate the man’s instincts if not the consequences for himself of those instincts. He sipped from his own cup and said, “When you first came here, our wards warned us that you had evil intentions towards the inhabitants of this house. I will know the reason for that, though you seem a strong ally now.”  
  
Ledbetter said, “I had no hostile intentions towards Potter. But from what I understand of those wards, hostile intentions towards _some_ of the inhabitants are quite enough.”  
  
“It is a new thing for me to be so deeply hated by someone who has not met me,” Severus said. “The particular brand of loathing I inspire usually demands a closer acquaintance.”  
  
“I know that you committed murder,” Ledbetter said. “I know that you participated in torture. I know that you used Dark magic. And I know that Malfoy’s done the last two, if not the first. That’s enough for me to hate you.” He gave Severus an unnerving grin. “It’s nothing personal. I hate everyone who’s done the same things, and I think you should all be rotting in Azkaban.”  
  
“You are training Draco,” Severus said. He did his best to focus on the emotions the bonds were pouring into him at the moment, the starting and stopping fire of Harry’s concentration on the letters, the crashing waterfall of Draco’s mind in labor, so that he would not have to think of his own. He did not understand Ledbetter, and he did not want to react with rage and frustration because of that. “Why would you do such a thing if you believe that he might use that knowledge for evil?”  
  
Ledbetter was silent for long moments, looking into the tea as if he were trying to detect the exact nature of the poison that he believed Severus had used there. Then he looked up and shook his head.  
  
“One thing makes this all different, and makes my loathing for you irrelevant,” he said. “The bond.”  
  
Severus raised his eyebrows. “I did not take you for someone who had read the fairy tales of bonded couples and believed them.”  
  
Ledbetter snorted. “Not a _couple_ ,” he said, his sarcasm of the kind that Severus admired. He somewhat regretted that he was not teaching at the moment and did not have as much reason to adopt it. “A bonded couple vanishes into bed and you don’t get any more sense out of ‘em than you do out of a pair of lovebirds. But a triad is different. A triad spreads its energies. And you’re devoted to Potter whether or not you want to be. That should control your actions in the future. If he’s willing to ignore your pasts, then I can do the same thing, while still hating you. I’m not the one who has to live with you.”  
  
He leaned back against the counter and gave Severus another grin. “Of course, if Malfoy does misuse the knowledge I’m giving him, or if you attempt to kill or torture someone else, no matter what the reason, I’ll have you in Azkaban so fast that you’ll still be blinking and wondering where those grey walls came from.”  
  
Slowly, Severus inclined his head. The philosophy that guided Ledbetter’s life was not one that made any sense to him—indeed, he thought it incoherent and self-contradictory—but it was enough for him to know that the man was an _honorable_ enemy. He shared the same goals that Severus did: keeping Harry and Draco alive and free. That he might feel cordial loathing along the way was neither important nor worth wasting thought on.  
  
“You should know that Harry would fight for us if that happened,” he did say.  
  
“He hasn’t got any choice,” Ledbetter said placidly. “I understand that. But neither do I have any choice about what I do.” He shrugged and set down the teacup on the table. “Pleasant talking to you, Snape.” He strode out of the room.  
  
Left alone, Severus smiled thinly. _Our allies are a strangely assorted lot, but I dare say they will do._  
  
*  
  
“I think it’s great that you, er, have a boyfriend, mate.”  
  
Harry took a deep breath. All evening while he had dinner at the Burrow, the ice between him and Ron had grown deeper and colder. Ron had avoided his eyes, talked to Hermione whenever Harry opened his mouth to get his attention, and stared desperately at Ginny as if he thought that a welcome diversion would be her leaping on Harry and punching him for breaking up with her.  
  
(Even though it was the other way around. Harry was sometimes depressed that no one remembered that).   
  
Harry had told the Weasleys about Cadell. Mrs. Weasley had exchanged mysterious smiles with Mr. Weasley; Harry decided that they were thinking he must be gay and it was no wonder he and Ginny hadn’t worked out. Ginny had managed a respectable smile and congratulations. George had burst out laughing hysterically for some reason. Bill, who was visiting alone because Fleur had gone to France to be with her parents for a week, shook his head and said something about size and hardness that Harry pretended not to understand.  
  
Ron had stared with his mouth hanging open, and then he’d stood up and asked Harry to go for a walk in the garden. Harry had followed him with a dry mouth. _This is the moment that either makes or breaks our friendship, I think._  
  
When they’d walked for ten minutes in silence, Harry’s dread had increased. And now Ron had said this, and he had permission to react.  
  
“Thanks, mate,” he said, and clapped Ron’s shoulder. “I never wanted to break up with Ginny, but I think she needs things I can’t give her, and Cadell can give me things _I_ want that just weren’t there with her.”  
  
Ron turned to face him, and he was actually smiling. Harry found himself taking huge breaths in relief, as though he were trying to breathe through smoke. “One thing in particular, right?” he asked, and lifted his eyebrows.  
  
Harry felt himself turn red. “You’re as bad as your parents,” he muttered. “And George. I don’t know if I’m gay.”  
  
Ron blinked and looked uncertain again. “But if you’re sleeping with a bloke—”  
  
Harry wasn’t about to reveal to his friends how far his experiments with Cadell had gone, especially since he always shut the bonds to Draco and Severus when the “experiments” started. That was private information, and neither his bondmates nor his friends could have it. “It doesn’t work that way,” he said firmly. “I didn’t make a decision to stop liking girls or start liking blokes. I don’t know what I am yet, come to that, and I think I’ll wait a while to decide.”  
  
Ron nodded slowly. “Yeah, all right. I reckon people have given you labels all your life, and it’s nice to be uncertain where you belong for once.”  
  
Harry looked at him in mock amazement. “Sometimes I think that you’re just a normal chess-player and war hero, and then you come out with an insight like that.”  
  
More red-faced than when he’d thought they were discussing gay sex, Ron pushed him, and Harry pushed him back, and Ron slipped in the wet grass and punched Harry in the knee, and they were all right again.  
  
*  
  
Harry stepped out of the Burrow and stood smiling up at the stars. A cool April breeze traveled past him, and he smiled more widely. That had gone much better than he had thought it would, and now he thought his relationship with the Weasley family would slowly turn back to normal. Not the kind of normal he had once thought it would be, where he was Ginny’s boyfriend as well as Ron and Hermione’s friend and the other Weasleys’ adopted son and brother, but a settled part of his life that he was always welcome in.  
  
And he had his bondmates, and he had his boyfriend. His life was _unusual_ , but it wasn’t the punishing kind of unusual anymore. Harry no longer felt as though he were condemned to live out his life alone or in the company of people who would never understand him. Draco and Severus had been calmer and gentler lately, with more of a tendency to explain, as though Harry’s failure to understand some of the things they talked about was making its way through the bond.  
  
Harry whistled as he took out his wand to Apparate.  
  
A deliberate blow came down on the back of his neck, throwing him forwards. Harry found himself scrambling in the grass, trying to breathe. The blow seemed to have frozen his lungs and chest as well as numbed his neck.   
  
_Roll to the side_ , the memory of Ledbetter’s voice said in his mind, while Harry’s brain created a picture for him of where the attacker must be standing and sent him tumbling madly in the opposite direction.  
  
Harry heard something solid connect with the dirt behind him and a soft hiss of frustration. His lungs were working again, and his neck throbbed with pain, and he was _angry._ He grabbed for his wand—  
  
Another blow hit him, this time just above his waist. Harry went sprawling. His wand flew from his fingers, and he thought he saw it roll behind a clump of grass before his eyes slid helplessly shut and his eyesight fuzzed and fizzed.  
  
“Got him,” someone said.   
  
Harry felt the soft shimmer of heat above his phoenix marks, but he had no idea if they would bring Draco and Severus to his aid or not. He had no idea how to stand, although he badly wanted to. For a moment, he entertained the terrifying thought that he was paralyzed and would never walk again.  
  
Then another blow hit the back of his skull, and he entertained no thoughts at all.


	19. Chapter 19

  
Draco nearly dropped the vial of powdered glass he held when a golden blaze cut the air in front of him. His first thought was that the Ministry was raiding the house again, without official notice this time, and he set the vial down on the table and stepped back in one swift movement, lifting his wand.  
  
The golden flash turned around again and flew towards him, and this time he could see the outlines. He stared. It looked like nothing so much as the phoenix on his arm come to life, with a body no thicker than the foam on butterbeer and a streaming tail and crest of bright feathers. It opened its beak and screamed at him, and Draco hastily stepped towards it, hand extended, trying to figure out what it wanted. A glance downwards showed him that his phoenix was still in place.  
  
“What’s the matter?”  
  
Then he had his answer.  
  
Harry’s pain and panic nearly made Draco faint, but he gritted his teeth and clung to consciousness. He had borne worse things than the avalanche of emotions rolling down the bond at him, though at the moment it was hard to remember what they were.   
  
He ducked his head and swore softly when the bond suddenly went dark, without even the firefly dreams that usually lighted it when Harry was asleep. He straightened again and faced the phoenix, who had its wings spread wide and was screaming with a regular shrill pulse that caused Draco to worry for his ears.  
  
“I know that Harry’s in trouble,” Draco said, and his own voice was rising to the point that he thought it would sound like a shrill screech to Severus. _Always assuming that Severus is concerned about noise when he’s felt that pain and fear, of course_. Draco fastened his gaze on the phoenix and tried to continue in a calmer tone. “The point is, what’s happened to him and where is he and who did that?”  
  
The phoenix circled his head. Then it landed on his shoulder and ducked its beak until the edges touched Draco’s ear. Draco turned and glared at it, wondering what it meant to do now. He had to beat back his own panic, because he simply had no experience with this type of magic and no idea what should happen next, and in the meantime, Harry was in trouble.  
  
The phoenix breathed out, ruffling the feathers around its mouth.  
  
And the scene streamed across Draco’s eyes like a cloud across the moon.  
  
He couldn’t see the figures who assaulted Harry clearly; they wore cloaks that were too thick, and their hands and faces barely showed. But he saw that they were attacking him outside the Burrow, and they did it with a heavy pole of what looked like green metal that hit Harry’s neck, and then back, and then head. Harry crumpled to the ground after the best fight he could give, which wasn’t very much.  
  
A howl battled to rise up Draco’s throat, as if he were a werewolf in the process of changing form. How _dare_ the bastards? After what Harry had done for the wizarding world, after everything he’d tried to do since—  
  
The phoenix nipped his ear sharply, which felt like a minor burn, and Draco realized the scene had continued. The figures swung Harry up over their shoulders and walked about twenty yards away from the Burrow. Then they Apparated.  
  
That meant the attack had taken place inside the Burrow’s wards.  
  
Draco wanted to leap away as if he were on fire. He had _known_ that the Weasleys, as blood traitors, were never to be trusted, he had _known_ that Harry should have picked him and Slytherin from the beginning and led a more comfortable and protected existence with them, maybe some of those awful things he’d gone through wouldn’t have happened to him if he had—  
  
But even without the vision showing the Weasleys dashing out of their house, looking in horror at the trampled and bloody grass where Harry had been attacked, picking up his wand, and calling frantically for him, Draco knew his thoughts simply contained the last remnants of jealousy and anger. The Weasleys were Harry’s dear friends. They would never do something like this. Draco might mock Gryffindor loyalty, but he knew it was solid. It had to be someone else who was trusted enough to be inside the Weasleys’ wards.  
  
The vision ended. The phoenix fluttered up in front of Draco, wings spread and screaming eagerly. Draco nodded to it, absently wondering where it had come from, and then ran to the door of the potions lab.  
  
He met Severus there. Severus’s eyes were narrowed to the point that it felt as if Draco were looking through small gates into fury. He gave Draco a swift nod and a squeeze on the shoulder, as though he imagined he might need reassurance in the wake of what had happened to Harry.  
  
“I saw,” he said. Draco looked to the side and realized that a second paper-thin phoenix hovered over Severus’s shoulder, joining its cries to those of Draco’s bird. “We will find him. And we will take revenge.”  
  
The second statement was the one that reassured Draco the most. If Severus wanted to hurt the people who had taken Harry that badly, the sheer force of his desire would compel him to find them.  
  
*  
  
Severus kept his attention on Draco as they Apparated to the outside of the Burrow, and let Draco do most of the talking to the Weasleys, whom Severus quickly determined were as shocked and angry about this development as they were. He left the explanation of the vision to Draco. He was casting about for clues in the grass where they had seen the attack take place, and he was struggling to subdue his own anger.  
  
He did not believe the Weasleys had betrayed Harry. It had to have been someone who was welcome within their wards, however, and that ruled out Swanfair, who would have been Severus’s second choice. It was rational for Swanfair to want to test the strength of Harry’s bond to his partners.  
  
That left the Ministry’s Aurors as the most reasonable candidates. Arthur Weasley worked for the Ministry; Granger was angling for a job there; Harry’s friend was still in the Auror training program. They had not ruptured their relationships with Kingsley Shacklebolt the way that Harry had, though Severus knew they treated him more cautiously and coldly. That meant that gaps could be built into their wards that would have started during the war, when Aurors in the Order of the Phoenix needed quick access to safe houses and sites of attack. It would not be beyond Shacklebolt—though Severus wished his ulcers had preoccupied him more—to exploit those gaps in the wards.  
  
The sheer _stupidity_ and _stubbornness_ the Minister expressed made Severus wish to Transfigure him into a mushroom and then cut him apart for use in a Halitosis Potion. Shacklebolt was the opposite of Harry when it came to accepting the inevitable.  
  
But Severus also had to restrain his anger, because he thought that Shacklebolt must have known suspicion would fall on him.  
  
Not because he could follow out Severus’s subtle reasoning; the Minister had proven that he had nothing but contempt for Severus and Draco, as if being a former Death Eater meant that one could not use reason. Simply because he had attacked Harry before this, and he was the most natural suspect when it happened again.  
  
Severus therefore thought this was a trap.  
  
And for him and Draco, not for Harry.  
  
They would have the right to charge in with their wands bright, according to the bond and the popular perceptions of what bonds enforced—but according to the Ministry, if they used the Dark Arts Severus wanted so badly to use, they would be thrown into Azkaban. Shacklebolt would be further on edge after the failed raid in Hogsmeade, and would look eagerly for an excuse to do such a thing.  
  
So they must rescue Harry without using Dark Arts, and without losing their tempers.  
  
Severus turned and looked directly at Draco. Draco was talking with the youngest Weasley at the moment, and there was no trace of a sneer on his face. His hands were clenched, however, and he was breathing at a pace that directly matched the throb of his anger in the back of Severus’s head, like a beating heart.   
  
_I can control my temper. I am not sure of Draco_.  
  
“Draco,” he said quietly, attracting the attention of everyone in the area. Severus did not roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. They were all so desperate that anyone who sounded commanding and certain could rule them. “There are some signs here that I will need one of our books to identify.” That was pure nonsense, of course, but it made Draco’s face brighten and the Weasleys relax. “I also need to fetch some potions that may aid us in our venture. Give me a few moments to make the Apparition.”  
  
“Take as much time as you need, Severus.” Draco’s eyes were shining, his mouth turned fiercely down. He reached out and clutched Severus’s arm with a grasp that felt as if it should have crumbled stone. “As long as you promise me that we will find him.”  
  
Because Draco needed it and that was more important than the opinions of relative strangers, Severus leaned down and kissed him in a way that drove Draco’s lips into his teeth and made them bleed. “We will find him.”  
  
He Apparated then, and, when he landed in the garden outside the house, lifted his wand and cast a spell that crumbled one of the rocks among the flowers, disintegrating it and scattering it as a fine dust the way that Severus wished he could scatter the Minister.  
  
 _That is for control of my temper._  
  
He opened the door, strode to the potions lab, and spent a moment searching among the more powerful Calming Draughts. When he found one, he found a casket of mint and dropped a few leaves into the vial. It bubbled and turned a cool green. Severus nodded in satisfaction. This was not a reaction that he thought Draco would have studied, since it was one he had discovered himself. Draco would be insulted to be offered a Calming Draught, but he would drink a potion that Severus told him would help him keep his temper and that didn’t _look_ like a Calming Draught.  
  
And they did not need an argument about such an irrelevant thing at the present time.  
  
Severus leaned against the Taylor table and spent a moment with his eyes closed. The phoenixes that had given him and Draco the visions of Harry’s capture had vanished when they Apparated to the Weasleys’. Severus had taken the chance to check his phoenix mark before they went, however, and he was satisfied that the birds had not come from their arms. Probably they had something to do with Harry.  
  
It made sense that the bond would alert them to Harry’s danger in a different way than it alerted Harry to Draco or Severus being in danger.  
  
For the moment, however, Severus was more interested in a different property of the bond.  
  
The bond should allow them to sense each other’s direction. It was part of the changes that had begun to happen when Harry let his final barriers fall. Severus had not so far tested that property because there had been no need.  
  
But now…  
  
He traced a finger down the center of his phoenix’s back and murmured, “Harry?” in a questioning tone, concentrating meanwhile on the pain and fear that were the last sensations he had received through his bond with him.  
  
A line of red light shot away from the phoenix’s beak and straight through the wall. Severus stood up with a hiss and moved from side to side, to the lab door and back, to test the line. Each time, the light adjusted itself so that it could keep pointing in the same direction.  
  
 _We have only to follow this path to Harry_ , Severus thought, as he turned to gather up the potions that he had promised. _Shacklebolt shall be sorry that he chose to test our patience and control.  
  
Shacklebolt shall be sorry for many things._   
  
In the end, he had to burn another boulder to pieces before he felt safe to go back to the Burrow and the people who would expect him to be perfectly controlled and emotionless.  
  
*  
  
Harry opened his eyes, and immediately shut them again. He had a ringing headache, and the light around him made it worse.  
  
And then he remembered what the last sensation he had felt was, and froze. He wanted to twitch his legs to make sure he could still move them, but doing that would probably tell his enemies, whoever they were, that he was awake.  
  
He debated silently for long moments, and then realized that he could at least _feel_ his legs. That was a good sign, though it was distracting and irritating that they stung and burned. It was enough, for now. Harry breathed more easily and began to try to listen to the sounds around him.  
  
Those didn’t include voices, which he regretted, because it might have told him who had kidnapped him. Instead, he heard the shuffling of feet, the rustling of robes, a sound like heavy wooden furniture being dragged, and now and then a quiet cough. Nothing useful. Harry decided that he would have to use his other senses to discover something that would help, and try to ignore the fact that pain stormed through his head and spine and neck as though someone had whipped him with hot iron.  
  
Carpet beneath his hands and face; he could feel his eyelashes fluttering against it when he shifted his eyes back and forth. That too-bright light, which argued that he wasn’t in a room with a fire.  
  
 _One of the rooms at the Ministry_? He thought it was a good guess, but Draco and Severus would caution him against jumping to conclusions too quickly, and in general Harry was beginning to agree that they were right.  
  
He tried to call silently to them in his head, but the pain surrounded and pressed in on him until he had to give it up for a loss. At least the bond would tell them he was alive.  
  
His mouth tasted of fuzz and blood. That, and the pain, argued that he was badly wounded. He would have to remember that when he tried to stand up and move against them. Ledbetter’s crisp advice was ready in the back of his head when he searched for it: _Never assume you’re like one of those heroes in the fairy tales who can ignore a hundred wounds because you’re pure of heart. You’ll need to take account of blood running into your eyes and muscles cramping from hard use and broken bones, or you’ll need to die. And that’s a need that no one wants fulfilled before the right time._  
  
Harry curled his fingers quietly into the carpet. At least he could still move his hands without trouble, which suggested that he might be less wounded than he thought from the pain marching up and down his spine. He began to count quietly beneath his breath. When he reached a hundred, he would try to stand up and do what needed to be done, unless something remarkable changed before then.  
  
Then something did. Someone grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him upright as if he were a puppy being punished.  
  
Harry cried out despite himself, and felt a distant irritation that he’d ruined his own planned surprise. Really, though, there was _no_ choice. His eyes were watering with the pain, and the fingers pinching the back of his neck seemed to hit the nerve that the weapon, or whatever else it was that had felled him, had touched. Harry found himself stiffening with expectation of another powerful blow at any moment.  
  
“Here, sir,” the person holding him said, and then that person deposited Harry in a chair and shoved the chair forwards while other people moved around him in dizzying circles. Harry blinked to get his eyes clear and tried to lift his hands, though he didn’t know if he had his wand. The person behind him quickly locked manacles that seemed fastened to the arms of the chair around his wrists. Harry sank back with a hiss and glared at his captors.   
  
Finally, his vision cleared. Two bulky men he didn’t recognize stood on either side of him as guards. One of them clutched a long weapon of what looked like shiny green polished stone. Harry shuddered and looked away. Yes, he was sure that was what had hit him. The soft shimmer of yellow magic played around one end. Ledbetter had told him and Draco that yellow sometimes indicated healing spells.   
  
_I don’t think so, not in this case._   
  
And then his thoughts settled on the people that he knew he should have been considering all along.  
  
 _Draco. Severus. Oh, Merlin. Has someone done something to them? I’ll hurt them if they have._  
  
The concern for people who weren’t himself stabilized him. Harry found himself taking deep breaths and trying to calm down, because Severus and Draco would worry more if they felt profound fear from him. He even did his best to ignore the pain and looked straight in front of him again. The more he understood about this place, the better-prepared he would be to move when he finally had the chance.  
  
In front of him was a desk. Behind the desk was Kingsley.  
  
Harry glared. At least anger would send a more reassuring message to Severus and Draco than fear did, he thought. “Of course,” he said. “It _would_ be you.”  
  
Kingsley ignored him for the moment—Harry was glad to see that at least his face was ragged and tired—and spoke to the man holding the green weapon. “You’re sure he won’t take any permanent damage from this?”  
  
The man curled his lip, as if trying to figure out why the Minister would care, but said obediently, “Yes, sir. The weapon’s been extensively tested. It only causes permanent nerve and muscle damage when used more than three times.”  
  
“Good, good.” Kingsley folded his hands on top of each other and then focused on Harry. Harry studied him in silence. There were wrinkles on Kingsley’s forehead and around his mouth that hadn’t been there before, and he seemed to sweat more easily. Harry smiled, and Kingsley leaned back in his chair and shuddered as though Harry had implicitly promised to reduce his spine to jelly, the way it felt like the weapon had done to Harry.   
  
“This is a last chance,” Kingsley said suddenly. “If you’ll accept your fate and that the Ministry is in control of the wizarding world, then I won’t trouble you again.”  
  
“What would ‘my fate’ be?” Harry asked, and did his best to ignore it as the man holding the weapon turned it towards him again, though he couldn’t hide a flinch.   
  
“To be the Boy-Who-Lived,” said Kingsley. “To realize that it matters where you go and who you associate with. You will need to accept a watch on your bondmates, to make sure that they don’t use Dark magic, and you’ll need to appear at some public celebrations organized by the Ministry. And, of course, you’ll need to end these rumors of a new political party and your alliances with Dark-oriented pure-bloods by making a decisive announcement.”  
  
“Your Aurors attacked our home,” Harry said. “Doesn’t it matter that we didn’t use Dark Arts then, only pranks and wards?”  
  
Kingsley shook his head. “But they _might_ use Dark Arts. We can’t be sure of what they’ll do under provocation, which is why we need a watch on them.”  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes and looked more closely at Kingsley. His voice was tight and twitchy with tension; he kept glancing up as if he wanted to check the time on a clock invisible to Harry. And the subtle glee in his voice when he’d said _might_ …  
  
“Do you expect them to use Dark Arts when they try to rescue me?” Harry asked. “Because, make no mistake, they’re going to try and rescue me.”  
  
Kingsley gave him a sigh and a roll of his eyes. “I expect them to use Dark Arts at any moment. The Dark Arts are addictive, Harry; you’ve never used them, so you don’t realize how great the weight is.” Harry clamped his jaw down on the desire to tell Kingsley about certain Unforgivable Curses he’d used during the war. “This bond is a troublesome thing, but I’ve come up with a compromise that should keep it under control. Agree to the compromise, and you can have the one thing that you said you wanted: to be able to live in peace and solitude with your bondmates, untroubled.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “I can’t make choices for them, even if I’m bonded to them. They would have to be the ones to agree, and why should they when you kidnapped me? Why didn’t you send me an owl proposing your compromise so that we could talk about this like civilized people?”  
  
Kingsley glanced away from him, and seemed to be studying the clock again. Harry ground his teeth together. _He didn’t propose it like a civilized person because he’s more interested in trapping them. That’s all he wants. I reckon he thinks that’s the only way_ he’ll _get any peace._  
  
“Do I have to remind you, sir,” Harry asked, “that I’m the one who’s caused more trouble than they have? Because I dared to demand that people who cursed my bondmates and tried to kill me be brought to justice? Because I decided to start my own political party when I realized that I didn’t like the direction the Ministry was heading? Because I made allies that you wouldn’t have wanted me to make?”  
  
“You didn’t kill Dumbledore,” Kingsley said. “You didn’t torture people at the Dark Lord’s command. You don’t have the Dark Mark on your arm.” He leaned forwards, staring this time as if his eyes could make the clock run faster.  
  
“ _Neither do they_!” Harry screamed, exasperated and frustrated, and jerked his arms up so that the sleeves fell away from them. “They have _phoenix_ marks, to show they’re bonded to me, which is the reason that you’re so worried about them influencing me in the first place! Sir, do you ever _listen_ to yourself?”  
  
Kingsley flushed deeply, but didn’t turn away from the clock. Harry was glad, because he had noticed something strange about the phoenix marks on his arms, and wanted to examine them in private.  
  
Usually, it seemed as if at least three birds, in various mixtures of parts, ran up his arms. But now he could see only enough wing and tail and beak and face bits for one bird. It was as if the other two had flown away.  
  
 _Abandoned me._  
  
Harry swallowed hard and dropped his arms back into his lap. He could hope that the phoenixes had flown away to tell Severus and Draco that he was in trouble, of course, but then he had to wonder about the alternate explanations, since he hadn’t seen them do it. What if Severus and Draco had grown fed up with the way that trouble followed Harry, and decided that they would rather be on their own? What if they had managed to unpick the bond somehow? Or what if the missing phoenixes were only a sign that they weren’t interested in being bonded to him anymore, regardless of whether they could get free?  
  
Harry shut his eyes. _This is ridiculous. I know I would have felt something through the bond if they’d decided that, the same way I felt something when the bond started forming a new link between Severus and Draco._  
  
But the suspicion sank tormenting claws into him anyway. Harry _really_ didn’t like the idea of them leaving like that.  
  
And that made him blink.  
  
 _I….reckon that they might feel the same way about me, and that’s the reason they don’t like me spending so much time with Cadell._  
  
“Sir,” began the man who held the green weapon, “do you want me to be ready to—”  
  
“No,” Kingsley snapped, without taking his eyes away from the clock. “I don’t. You know what’s supposed to happen when they come. Wait for that, Miller.”  
  
The man subsided into sulky silence. Harry glanced sideways at him and wondered if he meant to use his weapon on Severus and Draco. The mere thought made him snarl. But he tried to keep the sound silent. The one advantage he might have was that of surprise, and he might sacrifice that if he showed that he understood too much of the conversation hovering around his head.  
  
Then a line of red light cut through the walls and landed straight on Harry’s chest.  
  
Harry gave a panicked yank on his manacles, trying to figure out what that meant and if it was going to cause him pain. But the red light simply lingered, and then it twisted and grew into a familiar shape while the Aurors were still falling back and shouting questions and Kingsley was still staring.  
  
The phoenix that formed spread its wings and cried aloud into Harry’s face, a piercingly sweet sound, before it circled up to sit on his right shoulder. Despite the fact that it was made of light, Harry could feel the heat of its tail and the prickle of its claws. It hissed at Kingsley and fanned its wings back and forth, creating a small cascade of sparks. The Aurors backed further away, the one with the green weapon clutching it so tightly that Harry saw his fingers begin to bleed.  
  
Then a second beam of red light soared through the walls, changing into a phoenix as it moved, and swept around Harry’s head, trilling a pure note. When it settled on Harry’s left shoulder, Harry was considerably calmer than he’d been. That phoenix ducked its head and rubbed its crest against Harry’s cheek, piping more notes. Harry automatically raised a hand as if he could stroke it, and then grimaced as the manacle restricted him from touching the bird.   
  
The phoenixes faced the Minister, and both opened their beaks threateningly at the same time. Harry took a deep breath, warmed and comforted and feeling somewhat stupid for ever thinking that Draco and Severus could have abandoned him.  
  
 _If they get tired of me and want to risk the bond being dissolved, then I’m sure they’ll tell me._   
  
Kingsley sat back in his chair, staring at the phoenixes. Harry could only guess what he was thinking. The phoenixes were Dumbledore’s symbol, and the symbol of the Order Kingsley had served so faithfully, and creatures of goodness. Harry wondered if he had ever thought through the implications of the bond being represented by phoenixes before.  
  
“Sir?” the Auror holding the weapon demanded. “What are we supposed to do now?”  
  
The question answered itself when the door to the room—which was on the far wall, almost at the limits of Harry’s vision, so that he hadn’t noticed it before—glowed bright red and then dissolved. Severus and Draco stepped through it, moving in concert, Severus’s hand resting on Draco’s left shoulder.  
  
Harry felt a spasm of almost painful relief. He looked them both in the eyes and nodded to them. He expected them to attack Kingsley in a minute, and he didn’t want to let them go into danger without knowing that he was grateful.  
  
Kingsley tensed at the same time, he saw from the corner of his eye. He must know it would be an attack, but he wasn’t lifting his wand. Why? Did he really want to rely on his Aurors to protect him?  
  
 _I reckon he really wants Severus and Draco to use Dark Arts_ , Harry thought. He could feel a prickle of irritation moving up his belly. _Idiot. If they did, then he could die or be badly injured, and that doesn’t matter to him as long as they’re in Azkaban?_  
  
Draco glanced up at Severus. Severus stared back at him, and Harry was certain that some private thought passed between them. Finally, Draco nodded and walked across the room at a stately pace to stand next to Harry. Severus followed him, the Aurors watching him all the while as if he were a python.  
  
 _I’m sorry that we didn’t tell you we were close before now_ , Severus’s voice said into Harry’s mind. _I didn’t want you to act too much as if you were safe and perhaps earn yourself worse treatment._  
  
Harry nodded his understanding, and, though he knew Severus and Draco could read what he was feeling through the bond, sent back a thought in response. _Thanks for coming here._   
  
Severus gave him a quick wondering glance, but didn’t give Harry a chance to ask him why his thanks should be so unusual before he pivoted around to face the Minister. Draco, meanwhile, aimed his wand and undid the bonds on Harry’s wrists and ankles. Harry glanced up at him and smiled.  
  
Draco, unsmiling, pulled him into a rough embrace and bent his head over Harry’s. Harry could feel Draco’s breath puffing into his hair, his hands tightening on Harry’s shoulders as if he needed a grip that almost bruised to remind himself that his bondmate was alive and there. Harry squeezed back. Draco grunted as he handed Harry a healing potion.  
  
“Don’t do that to us again,” he whispered.  
  
“What, don’t get kidnapped by obsessed Ministers, or don’t get hit in the back with a weapon that hurts so much I thought I was paralyzed for a minute?” Harry swallowed the potion and felt some of the pain ease. He grinned up into Draco’s eyes, or at least as much of his eyes as he could see when Draco’s head was bent at such an awkward angle. “I’m not planning on either any time soon.”  
  
“Don’t leave us alone again. Don’t get into trouble if you can avoid it.” Draco’s fingers tightened painfully in his hair. “Just don’t,” Draco whispered, and this time his breath against Harry’s ear made him arch his back.  
  
He looked away at once, but the damage had been done, because of course the bond didn’t stop flowing. Draco’s fingers tightened once more, and Draco sighed a noise that sounded like “ _Ah_ ” into Harry’s ear. Harry cleared his throat, face burning, and did his best to focus on Severus.   
  
At least Draco seemed to understand that this wasn’t the time to make a fuss about what had just happened, because he also focused on Severus. But he whispered one word before he did so that didn’t reassure Harry at all.  
  
“Later.”  
  
“I’m afraid that we’ve disappointed you, Minister,” Severus said, his hands folded behind his back and his voice arrogant in a way that Harry remembered well from the Potions classroom. He was sure that Severus’s face was probably frozen in his best professorial disapproving expression, as well. “We did not use Dark Arts. We found Harry at once, without torturing anyone to do so. And we are represented by phoenixes, which not even you can deny are creatures of light.”  
  
Harry relaxed. _Oh, good, so he figured out that Kingsley would have a reaction to them, too._  
  
One of the phoenixes on Harry’s shoulders lifted then and flew over to alight on Severus’s shoulder. Severus lifted a finger to stroke its crest, while never taking his eyes from Kingsley.   
  
“I do not know if even this will convince you,” Severus said, his voice heavy and cold, “given that you have evinced a mania to punish us for crimes we have not committed or have been pardoned for. But a phoenix marks my arm, not a snake and a skull. I have done nothing for the past eleven months but live in peace with my bondmates. I killed Albus Dumbledore under circumstances that you have seen fully explained, including by my own Pensieve memories of conversations with Dumbledore in which he asked me to kill him, and that was not less a grief to me than it was to you.  
  
“I have suffered. I am one of the people whom you spoke about in your first speech after taking office, saying that we would not have to suffer any longer, as we did when the Dark Lord was in power.   
  
“I should have appended a silent exception to your speech, shouldn’t I have? And so should Draco, and so should anyone else who was forced into becoming a Death Eater, it seems. You have to continue your suffering if the Minister doesn’t like you. You aren’t one of the people he considers himself chosen to represent.”  
  
Kingsley cleared his throat. “Some crimes are unforgivable,” he said. “I can’t persuade myself that you _had_ to kill Albus Dumbledore. There was a way around it. There had to be. And if there wasn’t, then he could at least warned me and the rest of the Order, tried to prepare us for what was happening.”  
  
Severus paused a long moment, and Harry wished suddenly that the bonds were open all the way, so that he could understand the meaning behind that silence. From the way Draco’s fingers gripped his hair again, though, he decided Severus had made a good decision.  
  
“Is that the truth?” Severus asked, voice so delicate that Harry didn’t think anyone would have heard him if the entire room hadn’t hushed by this time. “You are jealous of my closeness to Dumbledore, that I was the one entrusted with knowledge of his inevitable death and the performance of such a hard task. You think that some other member of the Order of the Phoenix should have done it. You think _you_ should have done it, because you are accustomed to thinking of yourself as Dumbledore’s most faithful servant, one who earnestly performed other hard tasks.”  
  
Harry heard a scrabbling sound that might have been Kingsley’s fingers tightening on the wood of the desk; it was impossible to see whether that was truly so from the angle he was sitting at. He started to try and move to the side, but Draco’s embrace tightened possessively, and he had to stop.  
  
“Well,” Severus said, his voice complacent now. “I should have guessed that before now. Jealousy is one of the most irrational and stubborn emotions known to humankind. I have suffered from its tightly-clawed grip in my time, and should understand that.” He leaned forwards until his face was a few inches from Kingsley’s, and his voice lowered further, but became more piercing at the same time. Harry wasn’t sure how he had managed that trick. “But it makes an unworthy motivation for the Minister of Magic to use in guiding his actions.”  
  
Harry grinned in spite of himself, because of two things. First, Severus had just made the Minister look like little more than a child throwing a tantrum in front of everyone watching.  
  
And second, he had just seen the metallic glint of a bright beetle on Severus’s robe collar.  
  
Kingsley tried to rasp out some denial, but it had no force behind it. If Severus wasn’t right, Harry thought, then he’d at least made Kingsley doubt himself.  
  
Severus seemed to know that he had done as much as he could and should leave while the Minister was still too stunned to stop them. He turned with a snap of his robes that Harry wished he could imitate and nodded to them. Harry gritted his teeth as he rose to his feet; the pain from the blows with the green weapon still lingered.   
  
In moments, Severus was there, lending him an arm to lean on. Draco did the same thing from the other side. Harry nodded to them and accepted their support without whinging. He might look weak, but Kingsley looked weaker, staring at them as if he still thought that they would start casting Dark curses at any moment.  
  
“Sir?” asked the Auror who held the green weapon, sounding much less certain than he’d been all evening. “Should we stop them?”  
  
Harry waited to hear the answer, turning his head back so that he met Kingsley’s stare. Kingsley’s eyes burned for a moment, but the fire was hopeless. He dropped his head as Harry watched and brought his hands together before his face.  
  
“No,” he whispered. “No. Things are different now, and I—I must think.”  
  
Harry let out a soft breath of relief. It at least _sounded_ as though Kingsley was reconsidering the suicidal course he’d been on since he’d kicked Harry out of Auror training. He nodded to Kingsley, though he doubted he saw it, and turned away.  
  
The phoenixes rode vigilantly on his shoulders until they were out of the Ministry and in front of a crowd of Weasleys who rushed to hug Harry and had to be restrained by Draco and Severus before they could knock him down. Then the birds flapped their wings, uttered challenging, musical shrieks, and dived back at him to blend into the skin of his arms.  
  
Harry rubbed at them tenderly when he was certain they were in place. Draco caught the gesture and promptly grasped Harry’s chin, tilting it up so that he could look into Harry’s eyes. “Do they hurt?” he demanded.  
  
Harry shook his head. “No. I’m just happy that they’re back where they belong, that’s all.” He looked over at Severus, who was reassuring Mr. Weasley that they hadn’t been cursed or used any curses. “And so am I,” he said.  
  
Draco’s smile was gentle, secret, blissful. He lowered his face until his forehead rested against Harry’s and ran his fingers down the back of Harry’s neck. Harry closed his eyes. There was no reason for the gesture to feel so intense, but there it was.  
  
*  
  
“I thought of contacting Skeeter just as we set off,” Severus was explaining to Harry as they came back to their home. The beetle took flight from his collar as he spoke, no doubt wanting to get back to the _Prophet_ offices so that she could write her story. “And I insisted the Weasleys remain outside the Ministry because I knew what Shacklebolt would think if they were with us.”  
  
“That they were the ones who restrained you from using Dark Arts, instead of your own morals.” Harry nodded wisely, putting a hand on the gate and staring up at Severus as if he could see every step of the planning process in his head.   
  
Draco watched with greedy contentment. Harry was back where he belonged. He’d said it. Draco had touched him in one of the ways he wanted to, and Harry had blinked as if he were a little bewildered, but he hadn’t complained.  
  
Draco licked his lips. He wanted a kiss, now. Severus had got one. Draco still hadn’t, not properly. He wanted Harry to look at him with full acknowledgment of what he was doing, with the excitement of the night still humming in his blood.   
  
“Precisely.” Severus had opened his mouth to explain something else—though Draco really didn’t know why he was doing all this explaining when he could be doing more exciting things—when he abruptly twisted and lifted his wand. Draco fell back next to him, automatically putting his body between Harry and the approaching danger. Harry muttered something about “wankers” and snatched his own wand up.  
  
“Harry?” came a voice that Draco hated from the darkness. “Are you all right?”  
  
Draco turned his head and found Severus’s suspicious eyes waiting for him. _How exactly did Caesarion know that something was wrong_? Draco asked in silence.  
  
 _I do not know_. Severus’s mental voice seemed to vibrate in the bones of Draco’s skull, which was a sure sign that he was angry. _But it is interesting, is it not?  
  
Very_ , Draco agreed, careful to keep Harry out of the conversation; he would claim they were insulting his boyfriend if he overheard. Draco reached out and wound his fingers tightly around Harry’s wrist, keeping him in place when he would have moved forwards.  
  
“Cadell!” Harry called, while giving Draco an irritated look. Draco stared back and tightened his grip. He wasn’t about to let go until he got a rational explanation for this. “I’m sorry I didn’t make our date on time. There was—a complication with the Ministry again as I was leaving the Burrow.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes, partially humiliated and partially furious. Of course. Harry had told them that he was going to “visit” Cadell that evening after he got back from the Burrow. Draco had forgotten about it because he had been trying not to think about it, and because, frankly, the thought of Harry in danger absorbed him far more than the thought of who Harry was shagging.  
  
Caesarion emerged from the darkness, raising his eyebrows as he looked at the way Draco held Harry’s hand. Draco promptly ripped his hand away and stuffed it into his robe pocket. No one was going to say that he was trying to steal Harry for himself. He would let him go his own way and have a nice normal relationship with a nice, sickeningly sweet _boy_ —and that’s all Caesarion was, despite his age, with no depth and no experience of the world—until it imploded the way Draco wanted and Harry realized that he needed things that Caesarion simply couldn’t give him.  
  
 _It had better implode._  
  
Harry gave both Draco and Severus a quick, apologetic glance, said in their minds, _I did promise him that I would spend time with him, and he’ll be worried, too,_ and then crossed over to Caesarion and kissed him. Caesarion lost the worried expression on his face as Harry’s lips brushed against his. That only made Draco despise him the more. _I’d be demanding details about this “complication,” if I didn’t already know what it was. This_ boy _only cares about lust._  
  
When Harry’s tongue started to slide into Caesarion’s mouth, Draco turned away and stomped back into the house, jealousy corroding his insides.  
  
 _We want him. Isn’t that enough? Can’t he see that? He’ll never find something like what he has in the bond with someone else, and he should stop trying._   
  
Severus’s hand fell on his shoulder, but he said nothing, either mentally or aloud. He seemed to realize that Draco simply needed to brood right now. He squeezed and let his grip fall away.  
  
Abruptly, the flow of adolescent pleasure through the bond with Harry cut off. Draco knew what it meant when Harry shut his bonds.  
  
He ran upstairs to the library, which was the room in the house with the thickest walls. He needed to rage for a little while without anyone interrupting.   
  
And he didn’t care how much like a child he was acting, because he had Severus’s approval and Harry was acting _more_ like one.


	20. Chapter 20

  
_I am sorry_.  
  
That was the only line in the letter, other than the signature that let him know it was from Kingsley. Harry blinked and turned the letter back and forth, then cast a few spells that Ledbetter had taught him which would let him see charmed writing. Surely there had to be some hidden message?   
  
But he couldn’t find any. In the end, Harry sat on his bed and gnawed his lip and decided, tentatively, that maybe Kingsley was coming back to the right path at last. He _had_ to realize that there was little more he could do now, when all his traps to try and force Draco and Severus into Azkaban had failed.  
  
At least, Harry thought he had to realize it.  
  
Maybe Draco or Severus would know better than he would. Severus, at least, had worked with Kingsley in the Order of the Phoenix, and seemed to have some personal knowledge of him. Harry stood up and opened the door of his bedroom, carrying his wand with him openly. If there was a hex on the paper that was meant to be triggered only when one of his bondmates touched it, he wanted to be ready to cast a countercurse immediately.  
  
Only when he stepped into the corridor did he realize that Severus and Draco’s door was closed, with a shimmer of privacy spells about it that meant one specific thing.  
  
Harry felt his ears heat up as he stared at the door. He meant to turn away and go immediately back into his room. Really, he did.  
  
But he found himself remembering the afternoon when he had intruded on Severus and Draco, and the way that Draco’s skin had shone as he slept in Severus’s arms, and the way that Severus’s eyes had locked on him and narrowed in something like—  
  
Something like _invitation_.  
  
Harry shook his head and turned away in confusion, barely remembering to seal Kingsley’s letter back in its envelope and toss the envelope into his room before he left the house. His thoughts were running riot, and he could only hope that Severus and Draco were too involved in what they were doing to pay attention.  
  
He hadn’t mistaken the invitation. He knew that. It had been one of the few times he had seen Severus with his barriers completely lowered.   
  
But it didn’t make _sense_. He knew that Severus and Draco either had to be in love or something a lot like it. Harry couldn’t imagine Severus sleeping with someone he didn’t trust deeply or have complete control over. And it had become only too obvious in the last few months that he didn’t have complete control over Draco. So it had to be trust.   
  
He was less sure of Draco’s motivation, but having seen the way he looked at Severus, he could accept trust, and confidence, and probably also love.   
  
So they were together. They weren’t seamlessly together, the way that Harry had once pictured sharing his life with Ginny, without problems and without quarrels, but they were paired, and Harry didn’t see a place for himself in that.  
  
They wanted him, but that desire had to fade because they were content in bed with each other. Yet they didn’t seem to agree. Instead, it sometimes seemed as if they wanted to cheat on each other with him, and Harry had problems with that. It was part of the reason he had been glad to find out that Cadell wanted to date him. It gave him an extra shield against any temptation that _he_ might have to help Draco or Severus cheat on each other.  
  
Because, as he knew from the heavy swirl of his blood and the half-erection between his legs right now, he desired Draco and Severus right back.   
  
Harry shook his head and scribbled a note that he left on the table in the kitchen. His thoughts made no sense, and would inevitably end up getting all of them in trouble and muddying the bond. It was for the best that he had a boyfriend he could go to to help him with things like this.  
  
*  
  
Draco lay panting beside Severus, his eyes half-closed and his arm flung over Severus’s shoulder. His body ached, his thighs trembling from strain, his back twitching and flexing as though it still remembered the positions he had made it assume. But his mind was quiet, and he could think of little save stroking Severus’s stomach with first one finger and then another.  
  
Severus stirred. “I marvel that you still have such coordination after a bout like that,” he said. His voice, Draco was pleased to note, was hoarse.  
  
Draco smiled and buried his face against Severus’s neck so that he could feel the smile. “What’s the matter, _old_ man? Did I wear you out?”  
  
Severus tensed and then relaxed again, apparently too exhausted to move. “It would take more than the attentions of a single young lover to wear me out, Draco.”  
  
“But what about two?” Draco reached out with his free hand and began to trace his fingertips slowly over Severus’s neck, a light touch that he knew drove him mad. He didn’t miss the slight shiver that ran from Severus’s body into his, and ducked his head to let Severus feel another smile. “What if we had Harry in bed with us? Would you consent to call yourself old and worn-out then?”  
  
Severus rolled over before Draco realized that was what he was going to do, pinning Draco to the bed. It was a position that Draco had become very familiar with over the past few months, and he started panting automatically. Severus gave him a smug look, though you had to watch both his drooping eyelids and the slow widening of his smile to get the full effect. Draco knew that he would never have shown as much to someone else.  
  
“ _If_ such a thing happened,” Severus murmured, pausing between words to lick a leisurely trail up the front of Draco’s right leg, “then I might think myself lucky and blessed. I might expect to understand and be understood, and find nearly as much intellectual as physical stimulation in the challenge. Nearly,” he added.  
  
Draco smiled and opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. Severus paused, licked his leg once more, and withdrew.  
  
“He may not be with him,” Severus said neutrally.  
  
“When does he _ever_ close the bond now, except when he’s with him?” Draco drove his hands into the pillow, picturing Harry and Caesarion entwined, and hating the picture. Caesarion had no right to _touch_ Harry like that. Harry had no right to look so happy with anyone else. “I hate this, Severus. I know that he has to come to us of his own free will, but I want so much to simply smash Caesarion’s face in.” He rolled back over to look up at Severus. “Are you sure there’s no chance that he was involved with the attack on Harry?”  
  
“I read his thoughts the next day,” Severus reminded him. This time, the hand he rubbed up and down Draco’s hip was soothing rather than arousing, or at least he meant it to be, from the soft black river that flowed through their bond. “He merely suspected something was wrong because Harry hadn’t shown up on time for their date. He knew nothing of the Aurors, or Shacklebolt, or the weapon that injured Harry.”  
  
Draco nodded slowly. “I could bear this better if Caesarion was sly, or manipulative, or anything but innocent,” he said.   
  
“I know.” Severus tangled his fingers in Draco’s hair, which calmed him and irritated him at the same time; he was remembering the way he had touched Harry when they rescued him from the Ministry. “We must simply put up with things and hope that Harry will not be too long in discovering that the boy can give him nothing but innocence.”  
  
“I’m glad that you think he’s a boy and not a man.” Draco looped his arm around Severus’s neck. “Why does he want a boy and not two men?”  
  
“Patience,” Severus said, and kissed him.   
  
Aching legs or not, Draco rolled Severus over to have another go of it. He was going to show Harry bloody Potter that he wasn’t the only one who knew how to have fun, or sex.  
  
*  
  
“I have consulted with Mrs. Zabini, with the Greengrass family, and with several of my other allies over the list of names that you chose.” Swanfair was brisk today, as she had been since the day that she looked into Harry’s eyes and then began to talk about strength and weakness, taking a series of papers out of her robe pockets while she was still shedding her cloak. “All of them agree that she would be the best choice.”  
  
“She?” Harry asked politely. He, Severus, Draco, and Hermione sat on the couch in the downstairs sitting room. Ron hovered behind them, scowling. Hermione had told him to stand there and look intimidating, and to refer any questions Swanfair might ask him to her. Ron looked annoyed about it, but Harry suspected he was secretly glad to have an excuse to keep out of the politics. Merlin knew that Harry would have liked to do the same.  
  
“Her name is Estella Colben,” said Swanfair, and handed the series of papers to Harry, who placed them on the table in front of the couch. Swanfair raised an eyebrow, as much to say that she couldn’t do anything about it if he chose to share this information with other people, and sat down opposite him with a prim cross of her legs. “Young enough to be flexible—and malleable—but old enough to have gained some political respect. Open to your ideals and to ours, since she has a pure-blood father and a Muggleborn mother.”  
  
 _Colben is the name of no family I recognize_ , Draco said into Harry’s head, his voice as prim as Swanfair’s stance.  
  
 _Then why did you pick this candidate out of the list_? Harry picked up the first paper and held it so that the others could see it. It showed a witch in her late thirties with brown skin, dark hair that she wore twisted on top of her head, and a direct gaze. Her eyes were blue-grey, which made her look a little like Sirius. Harry checked a sigh while Hermione said something approving about how she didn’t look pretentious.  
  
 _She was one of Granger’s choices_. Draco’s words stretched in Harry’s thoughts like an angry cat, while he sat still on the couch with a porcelain mask of perfect boredom. Harry worked hard not to glare. Draco had been abrupt and short with him ever since the rescue from the Ministry, and Harry couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t as though he had deliberately tried to put himself in danger. _Besides, occasionally I am capable of judging someone by more than their last name.  
  
Then you have no reason to complain about her being from no family you recognize_ , Harry snapped in silence, and turned away as Draco gave a wordless hiss at him. “What pure-blood ideals does she share?” he asked Swanfair, taking up the next paper. It was a copy of a _Daily Prophet_ article that said Colben had helped to open an orphanage after the war, and a center for war-scattered families to find each other. The photograph to that one showed her standing in front of a building with a glittering stone façade and several children gathered around her. At least the children were smiling, Harry thought. She seemed to be incapable of it. “Was her father a Death Eater?”  
  
“Neutral in the war,” Swanfair said with some relish. “I told you that she appeals to both sides, and a Death Eater could never appeal to someone like Mrs. Zabini.” She darted a sharp glance at Severus that amused Harry.   
  
_Does she think you want to become Minister_? he asked Severus while he nodded to Swanfair. “That’s a beginning,” he said. “Have you approached her about it? Did she seem as though she would be enthusiastic about it at all? What sort of political talent does she have?”  
  
 _She is not as intelligent as I thought she was, if she believes that._   
  
“Yes, yes, and a moderate amount,” Swanfair said. “She will have to rely on advisers to make some of her decisions for her.” She produced a modest smile. “Luckily, she does know how to delegate.”  
  
Harry had to sit and blink a moment so that he could sort out the answers to his questions, and then he nodded. “Does she actually have charisma in person? These pictures make her look as if she never smiles.”  
  
“You remember that I told you about different kinds of strength?” Swanfair caught his eye and gave him a deep, meaningful look that Harry tried to counteract as well as he could with a bland expression. “Colben has strength of the stern kind. She is able to make insults look silly. She studies the issues before she is called upon to speak of them and expresses herself well when she does. One office she _won’t_ need filled is that of people to write speeches for her. Other people can take up the duties of smiling for her and ensuring that the public likes her well enough.” She leaned back and divided a significant gaze between Harry and Draco.  
  
“Besides,” Hermione added fussily, “you know that appeal to the public isn’t the most important thing anyway, Harry.”  
  
Harry gave her a quick smile, and then squeezed her shoulder when he realized how anxious her eyes were. _She probably does think that I’m being corrupted by all the Slytherin things that I have to do_. “I know that,” he said. “But I know it’s important. I’m not going to pretend it’s not. And I don’t want us to choose a candidate that will just end up losing in the general election.”  
  
Slowly, Hermione nodded. She still looked unhappy, but until she had proof that they were doing the wrong thing in supporting this Colben, Harry knew that she would cooperate.  
  
“We have an excellent chance of winning, with this one,” Swanfair said. “Of course, just because the people I have asked have no objections does not mean that you will not.” She looked at them.  
  
“I knew a Death Eater named Colben in the first war,” Severus murmured. “He did not last long before the Dark Lord killed him, but he was there.”  
  
“A distant cousin on the mother’s side,” Swanfair said instantly. “As for why the Dark Lord killed him, we have evidence that he was seeking to spy on the Dark Lord for the sake of his family rather than serve the pure-blood cause wholeheartedly.”  
  
“Evidence?” Draco asked.  
  
Swanfair smiled again. “What looks enough like evidence to the untrained eye, and a tragic story that the Colbens were practiced in telling before we sought out Estella.”  
  
Draco gave his first smile of the day, stiff and reluctant. Harry frowned at him, wishing there was some way he could open the bond between them without alerting Draco. He wanted to know what Draco was feeling, and since Draco turned his back on him whenever Harry approached, it seemed as though the bond was the best way to learn about it.  
  
Except that that would feel like spying, and Draco would take it as a gesture of the kind Harry didn’t intend.  
  
With a sigh, he turned back to Swanfair. “Has _she_ ever done anything that anyone could think objectionable?” When Swanfair opened her mouth, an indignant expression on her face, Harry added hastily, “Not something that a _sane_ person could think objectionable. But remember, not all the people we’re dealing with have the same sane standards that we do.”  
  
Swanfair subsided with a faint chuckle, and then sat gazing at the far wall. “Nothing except remain neutral in the war with the Dark Lord,” she said at last. “And I would not think that would count with most of our audience, as many of them were ‘neutral’ themselves. Fleeing him was not the same as fighting him.”  
  
“It still might be something they’d try to bring up,” Hermione said, and bent over a piece of parchment that she cradled on her knees, writing a few scratchy words with a quill. “So we’ll be ready for it.”   
  
“A wise move,” said Swanfair, with the same strange expression on her face that Harry had seen her wearing every time she looked at Hermione, a mingling of respect and contempt. It seemed Swanfair hadn’t moved past her own blood prejudices. But as long as she didn’t allow those prejudices to control her actions, Harry saw no reason to try and harass her out of them. “Now, when Estella makes her announcement that she intends to run for Minister, I think it would be well to have all of you beside her. Mr. Potter for obvious reasons. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, because you show that she could appeal to Muggleborns and pure-bloods between you. Mr. Malfoy, to show that she has some appeal to the pure-bloods who are not blood traitors as well.” She ignored Ron’s spluttering to stare at Severus. “And you—I am not sure which group you could represent.”  
  
“Is it not obvious?” Severus asked, in that smooth tone that always made Harry unsure of what he would do next. “Those who have been lost to the Dark Arts—temporarily. And then we realized that we could not live like that, and turned to the light.” He drew back his sleeve and showed the phoenix mark in flight towards his wrist. “Having the bond represented by a creature of light has proven convenient several times. I think it will prove useful again.”  
  
Swanfair nodded, though her unwavering gaze on Severus made Harry think that wasn’t the answer she’d wanted to hear. “Yes. Very well. As long as you are prepared to give _appropriate_ details about your experience in the war.”  
  
 _Does she really think that Severus would disdain to do that_? Harry thought incredulously. _She’s underestimating him in both courage and discipline._  
  
Severus gave him a narrow, pleased gaze that showed he might have caught the edge of that thought, and then nodded to Swanfair. “I know which details we will use already.”   
  
Swanfair nodded back and stood. “I will leave the rest of the articles I have found about Estella, and her own statement about why she is willing to become a candidate, here,” she said, in response to Harry’s inquiring gaze. “So that you can make decisions about the aspects of her you refuse to speak about in front of me.”  
  
One faint smile, and then she was gone. Harry glanced at Severus, who moved at once to the wall to track her progress through the wards and make sure she actually had gone to the Apparition point without trying to set traps.  
  
Hermione and Ron, who Harry thought was talking mostly to be released from silence, immediately started arguing about Colben and whether it was possible for someone with a Muggleborn mother to be prejudiced against Muggleborns. Severus was concentrating on Swanfair, a frown puckering between his brows that Harry thought was a sign Swanfair had tried to leave them a small gift.  
  
Harry turned to Draco.  
  
“Look, can I talk with you?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice low. Embarrassing Draco when they were already having tensions was _not_ on the agenda. “I know that you have some sort of problem with me, and I would—”  
  
Draco, who had been looking at him with a mild sneer, immediately jerked back from him. “Of course it’s my _problem_ , and not yours,” he said, and then turned to stomp up the stairs.  
  
Harry followed him, utterly baffled. “Well, maybe it’s mine, too,” he said, trying to keep his voice to a mild hiss, since Ron had glanced at them with interest from the corner of his eye. “But I don’t _know_ that, because I don’t _know_ what’s upset you.”  
  
Draco whipped around to face him, arms folded and face distorted with the force of his anger. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Severus step towards them, hand on his wand and eyes bright and watchful. Ron and Hermione had stopped pretending to pay attention to their conversation at all and were staring.  
  
“You wanker,” Draco said. “There’s only one thing that could have upset me this much, and you know it. The thing you keep trying to pretend isn’t there, the thing you run away from as hard as you can.” He took a step towards Harry, looking as though some outside force had compelled him against his will to do so. “The thing that stands between us as a barrier because you _won’t admit the truth_.”  
  
“I’ve admitted as much of the truth as I can!” Harry wanted to throw up his hands, but that would make him look foolish in front of his friends. “The bond doesn’t have any barriers holding it back anymore! If you would just _tell_ me what else you want me to do, then I’d do it!”  
  
Draco opened his mouth, but darted a glance over Harry’s head suddenly. Harry turned and saw Severus frowning.   
  
“Are you warning him not to discuss it?” Harry demanded. “What’s wrong with you? How can I possibly try to make it up to him until I know what I’m supposed to have done?”  
  
“If we did tell you,” Draco said, his voice muffled with something that sounded like a choking ball of pure frustration, “then you’d take offense. And if we don’t tell you, then you go around claiming innocence. There’s no way we can tell you, no way that you won’t take offense.”  
  
He bolted up the stairs before Harry could grab his arm, the way he wanted to do, and try to reason with him. Severus placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder when Harry was about to walk up the stairs after Draco.  
  
“I think it best if I speak with him,” he murmured, and moved off, his robes swishing softly around his legs.   
  
Harry folded his arms and stood at the bottom of the stairs, almost choking on pure frustration himself. He was tempted to ignore Severus’s warning and go up anyway, but he knew Draco would snap at him again, and he was tired of being blamed for things that he hadn’t done.  
  
 _Or which I’m not conscious of doing, at least._   
  
He looked at Ron and Hermione. “Sorry you had to see that,” he muttered, and rubbed a hand over his eye, trying to overcome the feeling that Draco had punched him in the face when Harry went to embrace him.  
  
“I reckon things like that have to happen sometimes, living with two Slytherins,” Ron said, with a shrug.  
  
“Domestic quarrels often do happen.” Hermione spoke with a tiny, enigmatic smile that Harry had no desire to try and understand. He was fed up with riddles and mysteries. If someone wanted him to understand something, they would need to explain it straight out. He’d always said that, and he’d always accepted that it was a deficiency of his own mental power that made it that way, but for some reason no one seemed to listen to him.  
  
“Right,” he said, and sat down on the couch beside his best friends, relieved that he only had to speak with them for a while. “So, what _do_ we think about Estella Colben?”  
  
*  
  
Draco was pacing in wild circles around their bed when Severus stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Severus had expected that. The bond between them had shrunk to a pinpoint, overgrown by Draco’s anger the way the stairs had been overgrown by the vines they had used to trap the Aurors.  
  
“I don’t _understand_!” Draco spat, the moment Severus shut the door behind him. “He knows that we want him, and he still goes out and spends time with that—that _boy_! And then he acts as if he doesn’t understand simple jealousy!” He spun around and stared at Severus. “How much clearer do we have to be with him?”  
  
“Speaking of Harry’s boyfriend will only make matters worse,” Severus murmured, leaning against the wall. This was not the moment to try a comforting touch. Draco in this mood was a firework that needed to spin and spark and snarl itself out. “You know that. It will make us seem as if we are urging Harry to leave him behind for our own selfish reasons, when we must wait until Harry has abandoned him on his own.”  
  
“But that could take years, as happy as he seems right now.” Draco collapsed onto the bed, disarranging his hair without a care for how it looked, which told Severus more openly than anything had so far how upset he was. “And I want him, and _we_ were the ones who rescued him from the Ministry, and I want openness between us the way we were having a few months ago, and instead Harry closes the bond and gives all his openness to someone who doesn’t deserve it!” He flopped backwards on the coverlet and scowled at the ceiling. “And then he has the nerve to ask what my problem is,” he muttered.  
  
Severus sat down on the bed beside his lover and looked at him until Draco coughed, flushed, and sat up. Severus nodded.   
  
“You must not forget what is due to your own dignity and your own happiness, Draco,” he said. “You must think on what you are without Harry, what you may be if you never have him.” Draco darted him a sharp glance, but Severus chose to ignore it. He did not really believe, any more than Draco did, that Harry would never lie in their bed; the difference between them was that he had the skill and experience of concentrating his thoughts on other things, while Draco obsessed with the enthusiasm of youth. “The article that Skeeter wrote presented you as a hero, someone who could tenderly heal his bondmate instead of taking revenge, and I do not think the letters in praise of you have stopped coming yet. Have they?”  
  
Draco ran a hand through his hair again, this time to smooth it back into place. “Well, no,” he said.  
  
Severus nearly smiled. Flattery was a very simple potion that one could administer to make Draco agreeable, and in small enough quantities, it was not poison any more than a Calming Draught was. “And you know that you have a skill in Potions that Harry would never match if he labored for years. You understand equations and measurements, while he is impatient with exact limits and dashes ahead.”  
  
“That’s true,” Draco said. He leaned his head on Severus’s shoulder and closed his eyes for a moment.  
  
“And whether Harry becomes our lover or no,” Severus said, lowering his voice and running his hand up Draco’s shoulder, “I will always appreciate you in a way that I cannot appreciate him. You shared more of my experiences. Your mind is more in harmony with mine. When we did not have the bond, I still often understood what you were feeling. Though I will admit it is more convenient to have the bond,” he added, as his link with Draco purred like a petted cat. “Harry is half-crippled by moral scruples that I cannot understand. I accept yours and agree that they are the best for you to act by. And mine are not so different. On a level of similarity, Draco, we exist _together_.”  
  
Draco lifted his head and smiled at Severus. “I need to hear more about why you like me,” he said innocently, while the bond danced up and down with blue lightnings of deviltry. “You know, to comfort my poor abused and battered pride.”  
  
Severus smiled, but made sure the smile was narrow, so that Draco knew what kind of praise he was likely to get. “You can still manipulate others,” he said. “Not as well as some of the Death Eaters, but you use your manipulation for more wholesome ends, and it serves those ends well. You can control your temper when pressed to it, as you proved in the Ministry.” He was beginning to think that a Calming Draught might not have been necessary for Draco that evening after all, though he was glad he had given one if only to avoid having Skeeter record an embarrassing scenario. “You are beautiful—you are,” he added, as Draco gave a small, uncomfortable wriggle. He suspected that Draco still sometimes mentally thought of himself as the thin, pale, terrified boy he had become under the Dark Lord’s slavery, and he did not often look in mirrors any more to contradict the impression, having other things to occupy him. “You are intelligent in areas other than Potions. You—”  
  
He paused, because the bond between them had grown restless again, and not in a sly way. “What is the matter?” he asked softly.  
  
“If I’m all those things, and you can see them so clearly,” Draco muttered, pulling away, “why can’t Harry appreciate me?”  
  
Severus sighed and stood. He could have said many things, including the fact that Draco had never complimented him in the way that he had just complimented Draco, and that he was as resentful of Caesarion as Draco was. But Draco had darted back into the mood where it was better to leave him alone.  
  
“He will, someday,” he said.  
  
Draco shot him a dark look. “Of course. When his perfect boyfriend somehow messes up, which I don’t think will ever happen.” He planted his elbows on the windowsill and scowled down at the Hogsmeade street below.  
  
Severus shut the door quietly behind him. One of the many advantages of the bond was knowing when comfort would be merely spurned, so that he need not waste his time.  
  
He went down the stairs to work in the Potions lab. Between Draco’s darting moods and Harry’s stubborn blind innocence, Severus felt the need to be among substances that would only explode in _predictable_ ways.  
  
*  
  
Harry laughed and lay back on the bed, stretching out a lazy arm to Cadell. Cadell barely managed to open one eye, shaking his hair back from his face. It clung to his skin as if he’d walked through a wave. Harry half-expected to see foam dripping down his cheeks, and knew he would taste salt if he licked Cadell.  
  
His tongue was worn-out, though, and his jaw ached hard enough to make him rueful about any new use of his mouth at the moment. He had found out today that he _could_ , in fact, suck someone else’s cock, and even swallow when someone else came in his mouth and gave him no warning. (That had been good for several abject apologies from Cadell). The taste wasn’t too bad, and eventually, Harry reckoned, one got used to the pain and soreness of it, or learned to manage oneself so that the pain and soreness never occurred in the first place. But he didn’t know how to do that at the moment.  
  
 _Then you need more experience._   
  
Harry smiled, but there was a reservation in himself that he didn’t understand. Somehow, he felt he had done everything he could with Cadell now that they’d wanked each other in different positions and sucked each other off. Which was ridiculous, because there was plenty more that two men could do together. Cadell had explained it to him in exquisite detail, delighting in his blush.  
  
But still that reservation remained.   
  
Harry shook his head and lifted himself on his arm to look at Cadell. Cadell opened the other eye and gave him a smile of surpassing sweetness.  
  
Cadell was handsome, Harry thought, seeing him with an outsider’s eye. His features were more regular than they seemed at first glance, and they showed his emotions more reliably than Draco or Severus’s faces would ever show _theirs_. And those brilliant blue eyes were open and deep and gave Harry everything he could want, from admiration to comfort when Cadell listened to Harry’s stories about the frustrations of his life.  
  
But that openness also made Harry feel as if he knew everything there was to know about Cadell as a person—at least for the moment. He could probably leave for a few years, come back, and be delighted with the changes time had wrought in Cadell. But at the moment, there was nothing new for him to find.  
  
Cadell was uncomplicated. Harry understood him. Understanding should equate to affection, not boredom. But Harry was horribly afraid that it wasn’t going to work that way for him.  
  
“Harry? What’s wrong?” Cadell lifted a hand to trace the line of Harry’s nose and then up and around the circles of his eyes. “You look as though you’re trying to decide the best way to break bad news to me.” His eyes darkened even as he tried out a smile.  
  
Harry leaned down towards him and kissed him in answer, his eyes shutting as he felt the powerful, warm slide of Cadell’s tongue along his. Cadell made a soft murmur of complex pleasure and wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry at last surrendered to part of the confused feelings jumping up and down in him and embraced Cadell back.  
  
 _Yeah, maybe he’s not the person I’ll always need_ , Harry thought, as he perched himself on top of Cadell’s chest and began to kiss down it, licking his skin every three kisses. It tasted as salty as he had thought it would. _But he’s the person I need for right now. He tells me when he’s worried, instead of assuming that I should always know and getting huffy with me for not being clairvoyant. He has needs and wants that I understand. He doesn’t make a virtue of his own obscurity._  
  
“Oh, Harry, just like that,” Cadell urged, twining a hand in his hair and flinging his other hand across the pillow as Harry probed Cadell’s navel with his tongue. “ _Yes_ , please.”  
  
For a moment, Harry, as if he had leaped into a different body, imagined himself pleasuring Draco in bed. Draco would sneer, of course, and tell him that his efforts weren’t good enough, and Harry couldn’t imagine him _asking_ for anything. It would be all demands.  
  
And he would probably roll over and storm away from bed if Harry did anything that he didn’t like.  
  
Severus would be an even more challenging lover, with long stares to express his displeasure and a turned shoulder when Harry was clumsy or ineffective. Harry wondered if he had any _warmth_ at all, or was a marble statue in bed.  
  
Harry shook his head, giving a small growl. He wasn’t going to encourage Severus and Draco’s apparent attempts to emotionally cheat on each other with him. _He_ shouldn’t be doing it, either, by thinking about his bondmates when he was sleeping with Cadell.  
  
Besides, he had more important things to think about—like whether he could manage to suck Cadell’s renewed erection without choking this time.  
  
*  
  
Draco was aware that he was in a dangerous mood; it took no slight trembling of the bookshelves in the ground floor library to tell him so, and he wished they would stop.  
  
The bond had been shut from Harry’s side for _hours_ this time.  
  
Draco glanced up at the clock. Yes, it had been three hours since he had last felt any emotions from Harry, that time a swelling of pleasure that made Draco pant and dig his nails into his palms and harden, and then as suddenly cut off before it could crash. Harry had nearly forgotten about the bond in the buildup to orgasm, Draco supposed, but then he had remembered, and conscientiously cut his bondmates out of the sharing.  
  
Draco didn’t _want_ to share in Harry’s orgasm with someone else, he reminded himself. If anything, he or Severus should be with Harry now, showing him what men could do instead of a boy.  
  
 _But I still want to know what his pleasure is like, and the fact that he doesn’t think us worthy of sharing that with him—_  
  
Draco grabbed a book on Defense Against the Dark Arts from the shelf and sat down in a chair. Ledbetter had recommended this one, after sneering at several of the books that Draco had bought on his own, and when Draco had ventured into Flourish and Blotts to buy it, matters had gone very differently than they had during the Pepperfield attack. Draco had been received with respectful murmurs and sidelong admiring stares, and three people had come up to him before he left the shop to tell him how brave he was for walking into the Ministry to rescue Harry and then trusting Severus to handle the Minister while he healed Harry.  
  
“You must trust them so much,” a witch with grey hair and misty grey eyes had said, touching Draco’s wrist with one gloved hand. “I can’t comprehend trusting anyone but my husband that much.”  
  
Draco had smiled and murmured his thanks, and used that admiration to counter the other, hostile sidelong glances that he sometimes did get.  
  
No one was going to attack them in public without swift retaliation now. Public opinion was swinging to their side. Draco had received letters telling him that he had virtues the writers had never thought they would see in a Malfoy, and that he was not his father, and that—these were rare, but they came—they would sleep with Draco any time he was so gracious as to request it.  
  
Draco’s hands tightened on the book, and he ended up setting it aside and folding his arms, hissing like a teakettle under his breath. He knew it, and he tried to stop it, and his mind refused to listen to him.   
  
_The only two people I want to sleep with are already in a bond with me, and one of them is pleased to oblige me any time I want to and he isn’t busy with Potions. But the other one wouldn’t know what sexual tension was if it hit him across the face._   
  
The bond opened again suddenly, and Draco gasped and blinked, Harry’s relief and smugness bathing him. Harry had obviously enjoyed a profitable afternoon as far as pleasure went, Draco thought, digging his nails into his palms again against the surge, the _flood_ , of sapphire waves dancing under sunlight. Harry was happy.  
  
Draco would have been happy, too, if he could have been sure that Caesarion had nothing to do with Harry’s mood.  
  
And Harry was here. The front door shut, and Draco heard his footsteps traveling rapidly towards the stairs, as if he didn’t want to meet anyone who might be on the ground floor.  
  
 _That means he didn’t open the bond the moment he left Caesarion, but only when he was almost home. He probably forgot about it. He probably didn’t care that he was experiencing other emotions he could have shared with us._  
  
That seemed like the ultimate insult, or at least the last drop of rage that could be poured into Draco’s cup before it overflowed. Without being sure of what he was going to do, he rose to his feet and flung the library door open.  
  
Harry paused in the corridor, gaping at Draco as if he had stolen all the biscuits and had been caught with the crumbs around his mouth. Draco felt a mean satisfaction in that for a long moment, before he noticed a bit of crusted white in Harry’s hair.  
  
Draco instantly envisioned where Harry’s head would have to be in relation to Caesarion’s body to get splattered like that.  
  
It was _unfair_. When he would have given so much for a _kiss_ from Harry, and Caesarion, without doing anything, got so much more.  
  
“Where have you been?” Draco asked in a guttural tone, as he prowled closer.  
  
Harry blinked at him, and then seemed to notice the direction of his eyes and reached up to feel at his hair. He flushed and hastily muttered a Cleaning Charm, flicking his wand so that the semen disappeared. Draco laughed, the dangerous feeling boiling in him again. He had seen it, and did Harry imagine that hiding it at this late date would make any difference? Draco knew perfectly well what Harry had been doing.  
  
And he hated it.  
  
“With my boyfriend, of course,” Harry said. “I told you that was where I was going to be.” He glared at Draco in an insolent way, considering the contrition Draco thought would be appropriate. “You should have guessed as much when I shut the bond.”  
  
Draco bared his teeth. “Three hours, Harry,” he said. “What kind of date with your boyfriend takes three hours?”  
  
Harry cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows above a thin smile. “The kind of date that’s mostly done in bed.”  
  
Draco felt as though his fingers were on fire. He wanted to reach out, tear back Harry’s clothes, and cauterize the marks of Caesarion’s touch. Then he would brand his own mark on Harry, who would sigh and moan for more. Draco knew that he was better in bed than Caesarion without hearing any of the details of that _boy’s_ exploits. Severus was not shy about telling Draco when he fell short of perfection.  
  
“What’s the matter?” Harry asked, dropping his voice into a tone of mock sympathy. “Jealous because Severus has been too busy in the lab of late to give you the attention you need?”  
  
Draco _snapped._   
  
Severus couldn’t ask him to control himself any longer, he thought, as he grabbed Harry’s shoulders and wrestled him against the wall. It was inhuman, when Harry laughed like that and provoked like that and then had the temerity to gape at Draco in shock and indignation as he was forced backwards.  
  
“Severus and I want you,” Draco said, staring into Harry’s face. Harry went on gaping. Draco didn’t care. “You know that. If you didn’t want us back, all right, fine. But I’ve seen the jealousy on your face when we share something you don’t. Do you _really_ think that going out and finding some sort of inferior lover who can’t even feel your emotions will solve the problem?”  
  
“I want you, but I can’t _have_ you!” Harry snapped, trying to reach up a hand and claw at Draco’s shoulder. Draco twisted around and pressed an arm against Harry’s chest, trapping him more firmly than before. “I know that. I’ve accepted that. Do you _really_ think that me spending the rest of my life pining away for you will solve the problem?” He imitated Draco’s tone perfectly.  
  
“You can have us,” Draco said.   
  
Harry froze, then shook his head. “I won’t help you cheat on Severus, even if you want to.”  
  
“Severus wants you too, you _wanker_.” Draco was panting with excitement, soaring on a hot wind that was carrying him at last over the barriers that had been in his way: pride and a sense that Harry should understand something so simple without explanation. Well, if Harry needed a clear explanation, then Draco would give him one. “We won’t end our relationship if we sleep with you. What we want is a triangle. A circle, like the bond is now.” He dug his fingers further into Harry’s skin, reveling in his wince and the heady power of the emotions slithering down the bond like honeyed snakes. “A relationship involving all three of us, where all three of us sleep together.”  
  
Harry’s jaw fell open. Draco tossed his head back and laughed, while he leaped the final barrier and came down on the other side with his pride still intact, despite having to lead Harry into the truth like a child.   
  
“I—you can’t—Hermione said something about threesomes, but no one in real life—” Harry’s words tumbled to a stop, as if his flush had burned them up.  
  
“My dear simpleton,” Draco said, tracing a line on Harry’s forehead where the scar had been, “a bonded pair or triad isn’t like other relationships. We can do what we like, as long as we don’t hurt each other. I’ve been raised with stories of bonded wizards who had relationships involving three or four people, and because the bond is so rare and so honored and so impossible for people outside the bond to comprehend, their decisions were presumed sacrosanct. People outside the bond didn’t judge.” He leaned forwards so that Harry could feel Draco’s hot breath on his face and Draco could feel the trembling of Harry’s body. “Do you really want to resist this forever?”  
  
Harry shook his head dumbly, and finally found his voice. “I—I—what would happen if we tried and then hated each other?”  
  
“With the bonds open all the way,” Draco murmured, “we would have arguments, but we would not hate each other. Understanding breeds affection too deep for that.”  
  
Harry swallowed. “I just—I didn’t _know_. I still don’t _know_. I think the whole thing is ridiculous.”  
  
“That erection I can feel tells me otherwise,” Draco murmured.  
  
Harry blushed more deeply, and looked away.  
  
And because he was right there and because Draco knew that Harry wouldn’t resent him for it, he reached out and caught Harry’s cheek and turned his head forwards again and kissed him.   
  
Draco closed his eyes at the sweetness of it. Harry’s lips, dry and chapped and firm against his. His skin, stinging warm with the blood in his cheeks. His hair, rustling under Draco’s gripping fingers. His hasty breaths, increasing in pace as they stood there. His emotions, rioting through the bond like drunken kangaroos because of _Draco_.  
  
Then Draco pulled back, smiled at Harry’s dropped jaw, said, “Tell me when Caesarion can match that,” and went out into the garden.  
  
He needed to be in a place where Harry couldn’t immediately see his ecstatic leaps in the air. Not only because of the kiss, and not only because it looked as though Harry might be capable of coming around—though those were the main impulses of his joy—but because he had learned something about himself.  
  
 _If what you need is simplicity and straightforwardness, Harry, I can provide that. It won’t kill me to act a little less like the stereotypical Slytherin._  
  
Draco licked his lips and grinned, then jumped over one of the boulders that Severus hadn’t managed to destroy and landed with a laugh and a twist that spun him around until the garden and the sky danced in dizzy flashes past his eyes.  
  
 _And simplicity even tastes good._


	21. Chapter 21

  
Harry stood where Draco had left him for long moments, his hand lifted as if he wanted to wipe away the kiss from his lips. Then he lowered his hand and stared at the fingers.  
  
“How odd that you give your hand that look,” Severus remarked as he stepped out of the potions lab and shut the door behind him. “Draco did not kiss you there.”  
  
Harry started and whirled towards him. His face had gone pale, and the bond leaped and flurried with more emotions than ever. Severus simply waited. He was not sure which thing most confused Harry at the moment, and he did not want to chance answering a question that Harry considered unimportant.  
  
This was the reason that Severus had been so intent on waiting until Harry came to them to ask questions about desires and longings and how a relationship between three people would work. This was a delicate moment. Harry might turn his back on the wild, uncertain future that Draco offered and run away, clinging to the normality of his childish boyfriend with all the force of a stubborn hero’s heart.  
  
But what was done was done. And Severus had to admit his own relief at the fact that Draco had displayed the daring and impatience that he had not.  
  
“I—I didn’t mean to cheat on you with him,” Harry croaked. Immediately he blinked. “That is, I didn’t mean to cheat on _Cadell_ with him,” he corrected with great care. “And I’m sure that he didn’t mean to cheat on you.”  
  
“Do you believe this would have happened without my permission?” Severus unfolded his arms and trod a few steps closer, making sure to move in absolute silence. Harry’s slightly widened eyes and increased pulse said that he found that attractive, and who was Severus to deny him? “I want you in the same way that Draco does—though perhaps, I admit, with not so much of the fervor of youth. When he says a relationship with three people, he means all three of us together, all the possible combinations happening at once. He does not mean that he would be my lover and you would also be his without being mine. Though I am sure that he would enjoy such concentrated attention, were it possible,” Severus added dryly, thinking of the way Draco sometimes bathed in arrogance.   
  
Harry swallowed. “But—there’s so many problems with that.”  
  
“Moral? Physical? Intellectual?” Severus continued prowling closer. Though the boy was frowning in thought and didn’t seem to notice his movements on the surface, Severus could see his throat jumping and knew that he registered them on a physical level.  
  
“All of those,” Harry said. He tilted his head back to look at Severus with a desperate frown. “Not to mention psychological. You’ve said something a few times about being friends with my mother. Are you looking for her in me? Or would you find my father, and despise him instead?”  
  
Severus stopped moving in respect. He had not expected such intelligent questions from Harry—no, he had, but not immediately. He raised his eyebrows and said, “I have lived as your bonded partner for almost a year now, and _with_ you for six months. I have learned to overcome what lingering traces of that remained.”  
  
“You don’t know that,” Harry insisted, folding his arms and looking more and more distressed. “Or maybe you think you did, and then you’d look at me when we were—in bed—and find out that you despised me after all.” His hands closed into fists, and his face flamed like a raging fire. “Damn Draco, anyway,” he added irrelevantly. “If he hadn’t told me about this, we wouldn’t _have_ this problem.”  
  
“We would still have it,” Severus disagreed. “But Draco would grow more and more miserable, because I believed that we needed to wait to talk to you, and the tensions between us would become deeper and more cutting.” He reached out, because he was close enough now, and tilted Harry’s chin up so that he had no choice but to look into Severus’s eyes. “As for my emotions about your parents…”  
  
It was true that his emotions about James and Lily still seethed under the surface, and that he did not consider those memories often, painful as they were. It was also true that Severus had accepted the bond as marking a different turning in his life, much the same way his return to Dumbledore when he could not bear being a Death Eater any longer had. His repentance had been as sincere as his service to the Dark Lord. And his much more tender feelings for Harry were as sincere as the loathing and the helpless love he had experienced for Harry’s parents.  
  
But he did not know how much sense that would make to Harry, who was accustomed to living with all his emotions at once and who had had much the same allegiances, loves, and hatreds most of his short life. He did not lock his feelings in separate compartments and fetch them out as needed, and Severus did not know that he would ever do so. Draco might when he had more control.  
  
He would have tried to explain how matters stood to Draco with a Potions metaphor. Harry would not understand that, and would probably resent it if Severus tried, thinking that Severus was demanding impossible feats of intellectualism from him.  
  
So, instead, Severus said, “I will lower my barriers and invite you into my mind. You can use Legilimency if someone does not oppose you.” Harry opened his mouth to argue, the bond freezing into marble. Severus went ahead smoothly, as if he had not noticed the attempted interruption. “Look at what I feel about you. Nothing else. That will appease your conscience, I think.” He tilted his head and waited for Harry’s answer.  
  
Harry shut his mouth and bowed his head. “You—that’s a gesture of trust,” he said. “You could let Draco do that. You don’t have to let me.”  
  
 _Ah. That is part of what is wrong_. Severus ran his fingers slowly from Harry’s chin up to his ear. “I trust you,” he whispered into that ear, letting his breath rake over Harry’s earlobe at the same time, “with the same strength, though not in the same way. I would not leave you in charge of a boiling potion. I would not let Draco look into my mind without much stricter controls and barriers because he would not be able to help his curiosity and would go looking for answers to questions that are none of his business. I _invite_ you, Harry, as I invite you into my bed and my embrace.”  
  
Harry was shivering now as if he were too cold. Severus stepped back and waited, though he kept one hand cupped around Harry’s face, rubbing his fingers up and down as if he didn’t notice what he was doing. He did not want to give Harry _too_ much of a chance to consider. That would probably lead to him running off in more panic than before.  
  
 _Or storming off to go back to Caesarion._   
  
Only long practice at not letting his body express his emotions kept Severus from clamping his fingers down on Harry’s face and hurting him. He was beginning to think of Caesarion much as Draco did, now that there was the chance Harry might understand he was welcome in their bed.  
  
Harry swallowed at last and took out his wand. He was valiantly pretending that his hand did not shake, which led Severus to also ignore it. “All right,” he said.  
  
Severus lowered his face so that it was level with Harry’s, and gave him as open a look as he could manage. He knew that his eyes were his best feature—Draco had said so several times—and if they could be forbidding, there was no reason that they should not also shine and promise depths that Harry had never seen before. Harry did blink as if befuddled before he took a deep breath and said, “ _Legilimens_.”  
  
His entrance was clumsy, but Severus had anticipated that and put up barriers and muffles that would contain the possible headache. Otherwise, he left his mind like a limpid pond so that Harry might see to the bottom if he desired.  
  
Harry, biting his lip, his face stern with anxiety, only sought out the memories of himself, as Severus had asked him to. He looked at memories of Severus looking at him, and he sought out that particular evening he had peered in through the open door and seen Draco lying asleep in Severus’s arms.  
  
Severus heard him reel and gasp as the dark, soft warmth of the emotion Severus had felt then enfolded him. It took him a stern effort not to smile with triumph.  
  
Harry pulled back after that and stood staring at him with a very red face. Then he said, “You could have asked me to open the bond the other way.”  
  
Severus shrugged and raised his barriers. “But I know that you would have refused, because you do not want to be overwhelmed with emotions. That is your choice. It was my choice to offer free access to my mind.”  
  
Harry took in air that seemed to breathe a rosy tint into his cheeks. Severus checked another too-triumphant smile. Letting Harry make some of the decisions in this relationship was a good gesture, and one that Severus suspected Draco had yet to learn how to make.  
  
“It’s too much,” Harry said abruptly. He was fidgeting, now, and he bowed his head as the bond exploded in different directions with questions like leaping leopards. “I need you to leave me alone so that I can think about it.”  
  
Severus bowed and stepped out of the way. Harry hurried up the stairs, though he paused halfway up with his hand on the banister. Severus waited. He had been enjoying the sight of Harry’s slender legs and arse moving too much to hurry away himself.  
  
“Do you feel the same way about Cadell that Draco does?” Harry asked. His hand curled until Severus was mildly concerned that his fingernails would leave scratches on the wood.  
  
“Not the same way,” Severus said. “I do not have as much of the disdain that he does. I have read Caesarion’s mind, remember. I know that he is not malicious and cackling in the way that Draco would like to imagine.”  
  
Harry glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “But you still don’t like him.”  
  
“He is sleeping with someone I want, someone bonded to me, someone I would like to consider mine,” Severus said, and infused his gaze with the lust that he didn’t think Harry had been able to pick up from his mind.  
  
Harry squeaked and fled up the stairs. Severus listened, and heard his door slam above before he turned back to the potions lab.  
  
It would take Harry some time to come to terms with this. Severus did not doubt that. But it would not be the months or the years that it would have been if Draco had not made his move.  
  
Severus sent a pulse of approval to Draco, who paused in his wild dance in the garden to acknowledge it. Severus smiled, this time in amusement. He would have to arrange something special for Draco tonight.  
  
*  
  
Harry felt as though someone had opened a door to a new wizarding world and shoved him through it without telling him anything about the rules of behavior in that world.  
  
Severus and Draco, of course, acted as though nothing was wrong. Severus continued to ask Harry if he wanted milk in his tea in the morning and discuss Ledbetter’s lessons with him and advise him to read more books. Draco grinned at him more often and littered his conversation with sexual innuendos, but also trained beside Harry and spent hours in the Potions lab and lay with his head in Severus’s lap ranting about various principles of Potions-making that he intended to adapt to Defense Against the Dark Arts and hadn’t figured out how to use yet. They seemed to be casual, long-term inhabitants of this new world.  
  
Harry didn’t know if he could be.  
  
He’d told Cadell about the kiss with Draco, of course. It wasn’t the sort of thing that he could keep concealed from his lover. Cadell’s eyes had grown chill, and he’d spent ten minutes walking down one of the main aisles of Honeydukes, swishing a long stem of grass in front of him. He had plucked the stem from the garden to chew on, as he often did. Harry watched him and wished there was something more he could say.  
  
Cadell turned around at last.  
  
“It’s no good asking you to move out of the house or not touch him again,” he said abruptly, “because he’s your bondmate and you have to live with him and touch him sometimes.”  
  
Harry nodded. He had thought about telling Cadell that Draco hated him and wanted to sleep with Harry, but then he’d grown confused between loyalty to his boyfriend and loyalty to his bondmate, not wanting to tell too many of Draco’s secrets. Besides, Cadell could probably figure out the last part from the fact that Draco had stolen the kiss in the first place.  
  
“But—but I want some assurance this won’t happen again,” Cadell said in a rush. “I’m not that possessive, Harry, but I _do_ need to know what you want. I know he took you by surprise this time. Will you let that happen again?”  
  
Harry stepped towards Cadell and laid his hand gently beneath his chin. Those blue eyes he liked were wide with fear and something like anguish. Harry was touched. He hadn’t known Cadell cared that much for him.  
  
“I won’t let that happen again as long as I’m dating you,” Harry said. “I haven’t decided how I feel about Draco and Severus myself. I thought I had, but the way they’re acting keeps changing things—”  
  
“Severus?” Cadell said sharply, his eyes narrowed. “I thought it was only Draco.”  
  
“Draco was the only one who kissed me,” Harry corrected him, uncomfortable. He felt as if he were walking in treacle. _Why is this so complicated? I thought things were easy when I was dealing with Ginny, even though she was jealous of Draco and Severus, and I knew the other people throwing themselves at me were idiots_. “Severus made it clear that he wants me some time ago. I thought he’d given it up, but—some things he said showed he didn’t.”  
  
 _And his thoughts, Harry. Don’t forget those._  
  
Harry wasn’t likely to. The fact that Severus had invited him into his mind to look at something that private, instead of forcing him to open the bond, was a gift that Harry only unwrapped to look at in bed, in the dark, because he didn’t think he could consider it rationally.  
  
“Yeah, I don’t understand this.” Cadell swished the long strip of grass moodily again, not looking at Harry. “I know it’s not your fault, but I still don’t like or _understand_ this.” He turned around again, and Harry blinked as he found himself looking straight into Cadell’s eyes. “Did you know that they wanted you when you started dating me?”  
  
“Yes,” Harry said, and experienced a moment of intense loneliness. It seemed that he couldn’t explain himself to anyone who was important to him, no matter how hard he tried. “But like I said, I thought that they’d given it up. Just because you desire someone doesn’t mean you sleep with them.”  
  
“It’s the usual course of events.” Cadell had turned away again and was staring towards the door of the back room that contained the machinery. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked as though he had given up a fight before he ever started. Harry controlled his irritation as best he could and put a hand gently on Cadell’s back.  
  
“Not always,” he said. “I understand that it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. But it’s _not_ going to happen again. I promise.”  
  
“Would you sleep with them if I wasn’t here?” Cadell demanded. “Do _you_ want _them_?”  
  
“Yes,” Harry said, after a long minute in which he debated with himself and decided that he owed Cadell honesty on that, too.   
  
Cadell sighed.  
  
“Will you _listen_ to me?” Harry shoved at his shoulder. He didn’t like the sulky person that jealousy apparently made Cadell into. “I swear, no one _listens_. Just because I want them doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with them. Just because they want me doesn’t mean they’ll sleep with me. There are all sorts of unexpressed histories and problems between us. And I don’t think we have a chance of getting past them.”  
  
 _Maybe if we tried…_  
  
But Harry shoved away the thought. The problem was, no matter how interested Severus and Draco were, Harry thought they still formed a smooth, cold unit that shut him out. They were so similar. They were lovers experienced with each other’s moods and needs. They liked each other better than they liked him. Harry would be starting under a disadvantage if he tried to break into their relationship now. And he didn’t _want_ to start at a disadvantage. He wanted an equal relationship or none at all.   
  
He didn’t see any way a triad could be equal.   
  
Cadell turned back around and looked at him carefully, thoughtfully. “If you’re really not going to sleep with them while you’re dating me…”  
  
“I promise, I won’t,” Harry said earnestly.   
  
Cadell finally smiled. “I trust you, Harry. It was just a shock finding out this way that you desired other people and had them desiring you.” He clasped Harry’s hand. “But if you really wanted them, then I reckon you’d break up with me and go and get them into bed.”  
  
Harry stifled a sigh as he used Cadell’s hand to draw him closer and into a kiss. _It’s more complicated than that_ , he wanted to say. _It’s more than loyalty to you that keeps me here right now. I don’t know how to approach them. I don’t know how to deal with Draco’s selfishness, which I know would come up in bed, too, or Severus’s perfectionism. Sleeping with someone may be simple to you._  
  
And that worried him, because it suggested that Harry couldn’t really match Cadell in the same seamless simplicity that he had been sure they shared.  
  
Then Cadell was kissing back, and Harry was happy to wrap his arms around him and think about something else.  
  
*  
  
Draco shifted and leaned around Severus to glare at Harry. Harry glared right back, and turned to the side so that he could speak with Granger. Draco rocked back into place with a disgruntled sigh.  
  
He had been sure that Harry would go tell Caesarion that they couldn’t be together anymore, especially after Severus told him that _he_ had talked to Harry, too. Then Harry would come and climb into bed with them.  
  
But instead Harry, though he looked at Draco more thoughtfully and avoided arguing with him quite as much, went on as he had done before. He visited Caesarion and shut the bond when he did. He ignored it when Draco and Severus went up to their bedroom to have sex. He didn’t open the bonds all the way on both sides, which Draco had been sure he would do, if only to have some confirmation of the feelings that Draco and Severus were telling him existed.  
  
Draco had been sure that everything would change the moment the truth was out in the open and Harry couldn’t deny that they wanted him. Instead, Harry had made what adjustments he absolutely needed to make and ignored the rest.  
  
Draco ducked his head so that his scowl wouldn’t show to the people gathered in front of them, a silent, expectant crowd that was over half pure-blood. He was supposed to look serene and strong and confident, the way that Severus did right now. He was supposed to look like someone who could stand on a stage and absorb the impact of stares without losing his composure. A light touch on his back from Severus told him he wasn’t achieving that.  
  
Draco cast his eyes over the crowd until he spotted his mother’s white-blonde head. He focused on her and relaxed, remembering all the times that Narcissa had said she was proud of him in the past week for taking the political steps that his father wasn’t free to take. Finally he could absorb the scene the way it was meant to be absorbed.  
  
This time, they’d chosen a more dramatic setting than the field near Hogsmeade where they’d hosted their public meeting. Behind their small stage made of conjured ivory-colored wood, sheer cliffs fell away to the sea. Perfect, manipulated sunny weather sent warmth and light cascading down on them. Seabirds soared overhead, gabbling, but an invisible Impervious Charm would hold off any unsightly missiles that the birds tried to deliver. In front of the stage was a sprawling, rippling mass of green that dipped up and down in mild hills, providing several different heights of vantage point for people to observe them from. It was bright and in motion with the robes—black, red, grey, yellow, blue—of people in finery edging into their places. Everyone expected a grand announcement today, and no one wanted others to be able to say that they’d looked less than their best.  
  
They stood in a row of five on the stage: Weasley and Granger on one side, Harry and Draco and Severus on the other side of the gap. Draco had to admit that Harry looked better than he’d ever seen him look, with his hair in a mass of tangled rather than exploded curls and a green robe trimmed with gold that Weasley, of all people, had enchanted for him. Draco carefully hadn’t looked at Weasley, because he didn’t want to see what that ginger hair would do next to formal robes, but maybe it wasn’t all that bad if he’d chosen Potter’s clothes.  
  
In the gap between them, Colben would stand, when they made the official announcement of supporting her as their candidate for Minister.  
  
Before then, Draco decided, he wanted some things settled. _Honesty_ , he reminded himself. _That’s what Harry needs_. He kept one eye on the crowd as he leaned forwards, watching for the ripple of motion and anxiety that would tell him Colben was making her way to the stage. “Harry,” he whispered.  
  
Harry’s shoulders stiffened, and the bond gave a single savage beat like a constricted heart. But he finished his conversation with Granger and turned around with a nod. “Yeah?” he asked.  
  
Draco said, as softly and swiftly as he could, “Are you angry with me?”  
  
Harry hesitated, and then he admitted, “A bit. You seem to have expected me to fall into bed with you. Why?”  
  
Severus gave a warning hiss. Draco glanced to the side, but he couldn’t actually _see_ Colben yet, so he felt safe to continue the conversation. “I thought that once you realized triads are possible—”  
  
“Possible,” Harry said, with a sharpness that made Draco wonder if they should have handed him a few wizarding novels or history books that featured triads, “but not stable. You and Severus know and understand each other so well. I would be a disappointment for both of you, not subtle and not experienced enough. And I don’t want to break up with Cadell just because I know that you’re waiting for me—which is something that both of you are too dignified to do, anyway.” A painful smile constricted the corners of his mouth for a moment. “I know that you want me, yeah. I want you back, yeah. Whether it will work? No, I don’t think so, with my requirements and your selfishness. I don’t see any way that it _can.”  
  
Give honesty, and you’ll get honesty back, I reckon_. Draco blinked in astonishment, trying to decide what to do with this revelation.  
  
“Continue the conversation later,” Severus said, his voice sharp enough to cut even through Weasley’s gagging noises. “Colben is coming.”  
  
Draco had to bite down on his lip to stifle the protest, but his mind was already working through permutations on Harry’s words and what he might be able to do to counteract them. _If I was able to offer him some kind of proof that my selfishness wouldn’t take over in bed—  
  
And what does that mean, anyway? What selfishness? Severus keeps saying that I’m a very generous lover._  
  
Severus’s elbow hit him hard in the side, probably because Draco’s emotions through the bond were distracting him. Draco stood up tall and pasted his brightest and best fake smile on his face.   
  
He could feel his mother’s automatic amusement at the sight, even though he was no longer looking at her.   
  
*  
  
Somehow, Harry hadn’t expected Estella Colben to be so _short_. The photographs had shown her standing next to children, but he hadn’t caught the comparison, and his gaze actually went over her head at first. Then he finally lowered it and looked at her as she came to the bottom of the steps up to the stage.  
  
She looked at them like a hawk, was Harry’s first impression—with all of a hawk’s coolness and keen intelligence and uncaring beauty. She wore heavy dark blue robes that she gathered up around her to mount the stage. They rustled with soft crushed sounds that made Harry think of velvet, though he didn’t know if people could wear velvet robes. He would have to ask Ron, who was unexpectedly a fount of information, since that was what they were currently studying in Auror training.  
  
Colben rose up the stairs without trouble, which Harry was grateful for; all they needed now was a candidate who tripped over her own robes in her first important public appearance. She reached the stage and nodded to them all, taking a moment to look them each intently in the eye. Harry shifted uneasily when he met her gaze. He didn’t think she was a Legilimens, but it was hard to be sure from a single glance. At least he was comfortable in the knowledge that there was no way she could read Draco’s or Severus’s thoughts without permission.  
  
 _She is not a Legilimens_ , Severus said reassuringly in his head. _Simply a good observer, and skilled in reading expressions and gestures._   
  
Harry nodded back to him, torn between thanks for the reassurance and irritation with himself for thinking loudly enough for Severus to hear in the first place. _Thanks_ , he said at last, and then paid attention to Colben. She was walking towards him with her hand out, so he more or less had to.  
  
“Harry Potter,” she said. Her voice was as intense as her eyes, with the same sort of muffled rustling in the back of it that her dress robes produced. Harry, as he shook her hand, wondering for one mad moment if that was why she chose her clothes as she did, and then told himself not to be stupider than he could _help_. “I am glad to meet you. I have wanted to, but I did not believe we would ever be able to arrange felicitous circumstances.”  
  
“I’m glad to meet you, too,” Harry said. Swanfair had told him to stay with simplicity as much as possible so that he wouldn’t embarrass himself, and for once, Draco and Severus had echoed her advice. Harry felt some steel enter his spine as he reminded himself that simplicity could be as compelling as elaboration. He stood up straighter and met Colben’s eye. She had smooth brown skin on her face that made it look as though she had never lived through hardship, but her eyes and the heavily callused hand he was holding said otherwise. “It seems that we might share some of the same philosophies.”  
  
Colben gave him a faint smile. “Some,” she said, and moved on to shake Draco and Severus’s hands. Draco tried to engage her in a staring contest. Colben refused the invitation with a tiny movement of her head, and then said something to Severus in a low voice that made him look both startled and pleased. Harry smiled. It was probably a compliment on something he’d discovered in his research and published in an obscure Potions journal. That was the only thing that could make Severus wear that particular combination of expressions.  
  
 _I heard that_ , Severus said calmly.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, told himself to shield his thoughts better, and then watched Colben as she turned to face the crowd. All right, so she’d managed to get onto the stage without tripping over her robes, but that was hardly a test compared to this. Now they had to see if she really possessed the speech-making skills that Swanfair had assured them she did.  
  
Harry was starting to doubt that, just from the critical, solemn way that Colben surveyed her audience. That wasn’t the way to get them involved. He knew that from his own experience with the reporters at Hogwarts. They wanted drama, excitement, color—  
  
Then Colben took a step forwards, and tilted her head to the side, and slightly altered the position of her arms, and smiled. And Harry found himself gaping. It was as if she’d ripped away an Invisibility Cloak and revealed her charisma hiding underneath it. It was one of the best Transfigurations he’d ever seen.  
  
“Thank you for inviting me here,” Colben said, her voice low and thrilling, starting to rise as she began to walk back and forth. “You are trying to estimate my fitness to be a candidate to potentially replace Minister Shacklebolt in a general election. Some of you will have heard rumors of my background. Others of you will have doubts about my neutrality in the war, or my activities since.”  
  
She whirled around abruptly, the robes rising and falling in a dramatic fan pattern. “I will tell you this: I am not afraid of change.”  
  
That was the best thing she could have said. Harry felt the current of relaxation ripple through the crowd, and knew he was somewhat caught up in it himself. Kingsley was so afraid of change that this would be a breath of fresh air.   
  
Colben smiled and lifted her arms above her head. “I will reach out to the future with you,” she said. “I cannot promise that it will be an easy future, or a bright one. I can only promise that I will do my best to make it both.” She snapped her head from side to side, and this time that hawk-like gaze served her well, pinning random people in the crowd who froze and had to look at her attentively. So did everyone else, really, Harry thought, because there was no telling who she might choose to look at next. “And to bring you with me,” Colben concluded. “It is impossible for me to know the thoughts and needs of everyone, but I can listen when you choose to tell me of them.”  
  
 _Without promising that she would actually implement any changes based on them,_ Harry mentally completed the sentence in his mind. _Very clever._   
  
The rest of her speech was like that too, offering the people facing her all the words they needed to hear without pinning her down to a definite promise that might cause trouble for her in the future. By the end of it, Harry was no longer worried about her political acumen or her ability to capture a crowd. Colben didn’t mind emphasizing her Muggleborn heritage or her pure-blood heritage or her Death Eater cousin or the fact that she had spent most of the war in quiet retirement. She could be all things to all people; she had similarities somewhere in her background to most of them.  
  
 _She makes a much more successful leader than I would,_ Harry thought, absently touching his forehead before he remembered that his scar wasn’t there anymore. _I’m too unique, too different from most people._  
  
He glanced sideways at Severus and Draco, both of whom seemed to be enthralled with the conclusion of Colben’s speech and the applause from the crowd. Draco’s face was wistful, as if he wanted the applause to be directed at him.  
  
 _Of course he does._  
  
Harry shifted restlessly. There were times he wanted his bondmates, and they had worked so well together when the Aurors raided their house; he wished he could work like that with them again. But there were so many barriers holding them apart. And if they couldn’t demand that he change, how could he demand the same thing of them?   
  
_I’m not even sure if Draco would be able to change what I dislike about him, the selfish little git. It runs deep into his soul._  
  
Harry shook his head and forced himself to focus on the questions that a few people in the crowd were asking him. They were all simple, luckily—people asking him if he supported Colben, people wanting to know if he was going to run for Minister himself, people wanting to know if he had any hostility towards people associated with Death Eaters.   
  
“It depends on who they are,” Harry said, making sure to glance at Draco and Severus before he turned around to smile at the questioner. “And whether or not they’re truly repentant for their crimes.”  
  
Colben was watching him, he saw, her eyes quiet and cool once again, and her face without animation. He looked back as honestly as he could, willing his expression to reflect only the truth. Colben smiled as if she were trying to keep from laughing and turned away.  
  
Harry shook his head, glad to step down from the stage. He thought they had probably chosen a good candidate, but “someone comfortable to be around” was another matter.   
  
_Once I thought my life would become simple as long as I didn’t have Voldemort chasing after me.  
  
Hah._  
  
*  
  
“Mother,” Draco said.  
  
Narcissa looked up at him. She was sitting in a chair across the room, staring thoughtfully into a white book with a sewn silver binding that Draco had often seen her handle before. She didn’t seem to read it, but rather examine the pages, now and then turning one back. He thought it might contain photographs, but the one time he had tried to pick it up, it had burnt the skin off three of his fingers. Narcissa had told him that he might see what it was for himself when she died.  
  
“Yes, Draco?” she prompted, and Draco realized that he had been staring absently at the book and hadn’t asked his question.  
  
Shaking his head, he said, “Do you think I’m selfish?”  
  
Narcissa paused, then laid the book carefully aside. When she shut the cover, a ward sprang up about it that Draco knew would warn her if anyone touched it, or so much as tried to stroke a finger down the binding. He sighed. Narcissa’s brow crimped in a way that made her look fierce, but Draco knew she was trying to suppress a laugh.   
  
“It depends in what way you wish to define that word, Draco,” she said, folding her hands on her lap. “You are not a beaming beacon of charity and goodwill in the way that the Muggleborns would like you to be, but I think that you have your own honor. Your father and I taught you to have that, at least,” she added, in a tone that said she remembered the times that he had broken the rules they gave him.  
  
“Selfish in a way that would displease a lover,” Draco said, his cheeks flushing. He would have resisted asking the question of his mother, but she was well-aware of his relations with Severus, and if she didn’t know about the way he wanted Harry as well, Draco would be surprised. Besides, he thought defiantly, sitting up and pushing his hair out of his face, they were both adults. He didn’t need to feel embarrassed to talk to his mother about anything.  
  
Again Narcissa spent some time considering with a grave expression on her face. Draco scowled at his hands. He would have preferred that she deny it at once and tell him that he could have anyone he wanted, but then he would probably have scorned her opinion for being a mother’s instinctive defense.  
  
 _I need to give other people more credit for intelligence and more chances to judge me without assuming they’re wrong, I suppose_ , he thought.  
  
“I believe you could be,” she said. She settled back in her chair and stretched her hand out. A house-elf appeared next to her, bowed, and ensured that her fingers closed around the glass of ice water in exactly the right place. Draco sighed longingly. Harry refused to let them have house-elves. Draco had tried to explain that they were for things like this, minor chores that freed up the minds of their betters to think about other things. That had caused Harry to give him a cold look and bring Granger in to talk to him. Draco was not eager to have that happen again. “If your lover asked for something, I can see you ignoring it if you were sure that you knew better or that there was something else they would enjoy more.”  
  
“That doesn’t help in this case.” Draco put his chin in his hands and stared at the floor. “We’ve never actually been lovers, so I know that he can’t object to anything I’ve done in bed. But Harry says that I would be selfish anyway, he can tell that I’d be selfish, and that’s one reason he refuses to be with me.”  
  
“Hmm,” said Narcissa, in the tone that meant she was judging him but didn’t want to say so.  
  
“What?” Draco lifted his head and glared at her from beneath his fringe.  
  
“I can see why he would think that.” Narcissa gestured with her free hand in a languid motion that reminded Draco of the way she would push pieces across a chess board. “The laws and rules Potter lives by are alien to ours, but they are not incomprehensible. I am sure that he values safety and honor and freedom and peace. He does not value them in the _way_ we do, and that is what causes the troubles between you.”  
  
Draco spent a moment wondering how his mother could speak with such absolute assurance, when she hadn’t sat down and had a conversation with Harry about this, and then shook his head. His mother was a keen observer of people, as well as skilled at going about so quietly that she seemed like part of the background and others acted naturally in front of her. And she had had a chance to observe Harry at the political rally a week ago and on afternoon visits to the house when Harry was present. For Narcissa, that would be enough.  
  
“When he gives himself to someone,” Narcissa said simply, “he gives completely. I have seen that in the way he talks with his friends. He would do anything for them, he loves them so. But the reason he can do that and not fear being hurt or mocked is that they would do the same for him, and he knows it. He would give the same gift to a lover—but if that lover held back, refusing to admit Potter to terms of equal intimacy, he would see no reason to become involved with that person.” She finished the speech with a lift of her eyebrow and a delicate sip at her glass of water.  
  
“But—” Draco tangled his fingers together. “He has a lover now. A boyfriend, I mean.” Admitting that Caesarion was Harry’s lover still left a bad taste in his mouth. “If he’s already given himself completely to this idiot, then that doesn’t leave much for us.”  
  
“If that is the way it is,” Narcissa said, “that is the way it is.” Draco scowled at his mother and wished that she wasn’t so intent on facing reality, and making him face it, too, sometimes. Narcissa, gazing broodingly into her water glass, didn’t seem to notice. “But my guess is that he has not. You described their meeting to me. It was sudden. He has not known the boy for years. He has not experienced things with him that would forge them into the unbreakable unit that he forms with his friends.” She glanced up, and her eyes were coolly amused. “You and Severus have more in common with him than this boy does, or at least more in common with Potter’s friends. You have shared traumatic experiences together. That seems to be the glue that Potter finds irresistible.”  
  
Draco felt himself brighten. It was silly, but he knew that he would look sillier still if he tried to stop the expression, and then his mother would know what he was feeling anyway. She was exasperating like that. “So Severus and I could still have a chance with him?”  
  
“More of a one than this boy does,” Narcissa said, pulling her robes in close around her as if she was cold. “But not if you do not give yourselves to him completely, in the way that he would demand of a lover—and of himself.”  
  
And then she refused to talk about Harry for the rest of the visit, instead telling Draco the dealings of the pure-blood families in her circle, and how she had begun to hear regular rumors against Shacklebolt even from them. Draco sighed and gave himself up to mindless gossip.  
  
When he began to consider how he could be less selfish in order to win Harry’s love, or even if he wanted to, he knew he would have to do some hard thinking. Perhaps it was best to let his mind repose for right now.  
  
*  
  
Severus watched as the last steel dummy he had created blew apart under the force of his spell. He was in the tiled room that Ledbetter had reinforced for Harry and Draco’s dueling lessons, where he did not have to worry about the magic escaping and destroying the rest of the house.  
  
He had picked up an image of himself from Harry’s mind that he did not like at all earlier that day: cold, hard, impossible to please, always critical of the honest efforts that Harry made. It was no wonder that Harry wanted to avoid taking him as a lover.  
  
Severus Transfigured a piece of tile chipped from the wall into a squawking bird this time, and turned it to stone as it tried to fly away, watching as it shattered against the floor.  
  
The image made sense of the way Harry had avoided him even after Severus opened his mind to Harry, yes, but it also infuriated him.  
  
He had _done_ what he could to make himself accessible to Harry, to show that he did not hate him, to demonstrate appropriate gratitude for the sacrifices Harry had made for the sake of the bond. He had told the truth about his emotions. And still Harry continued to prefer his own imaginings of Severus to the real man.  
  
How many other sacrifices must _he_ make? What else could he do?  
  
This time, the tile was Transfigured into a rat who didn’t run more than four steps before Severus’s spell blasted it apart into a scattering of white fur and scarlet drops.  
  
Severus pinched his nose violently between his fingers and stood still for a moment. He was verging close to the Dark Arts, and Ledbetter and others who might come into the house, such as the Weasleys, would probably be able to sense them. He must stop.  
  
It was not a kind of control that Draco would have had, or Harry. Both of them were young enough to careen through the world doing whatever seemed good to them at the time and then learning from their mistakes afterwards. But Severus had long since mastered most of his base impulses and had done what he could to atone for his crimes.  
  
And still it was not enough. Still Harry saw him as the hated Potions professor who would let no opportunity pass to criticize him.  
  
 _There should be some time at which one does not have to become more mature,_ Severus thought in wrath, and paced towards the door.  
  
And then he sighed, because the same control that made him so different from Harry and Draco told him the answer to that question, and convicted him of whinging if he continued to ask it.  
  
 _There is no end to growing up. There is no end to change. You must always alter yourself if something does not work, no matter how much you like your old self. And if you want something badly enough, it justifies the change._  
  
Did he want Harry badly enough?  
  
He thought so, yes.  
  
Severus stood still for a moment, his hand resting on the door, and then lifted his head and purposely flooded himself with pride.  
  
His longer experience of life meant that he saw more angles of attack, more possibilities, than either Harry or Draco did. If he felt baffled, he would simply circle the situation until he found a way in and through, a new plan.  
  
 _I am too intelligent to remain baffled forever or give up in disgust. There must be a way to reassure Harry that I would not demand so much of him and yet retain my pride and my individuality._  
  
As he cleaned up the scattered feathers and fur and blood, Severus had to admit that he should probably be grateful for the challenge. If he had survived the Dark Lord and been left alone with nothing to do but brew and battle people who didn’t believe in his innocence, he would have been dreadfully bored.


	22. Chapter 22

  
Harry rolled over and cast a _Tempus_ Charm, blinking blearily when the numbers flashed up at him. Of course it was three-thirty in the bloody morning, and of course he found it impossible to get to sleep.   
  
As usual.  
  
He sat up, punched his pillows to give the energy somewhere to go, and then lay down again, furiously closing his eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened today; he’d had lunch with the Weasleys, a quiet afternoon with Cadell, and an equally quiet evening of reading with Draco and Severus. He ought to be able to sleep on that, and a full stomach, if he could sleep on anything.  
  
 _Liar._  
  
Harry sighed heavily and rolled back over to stare at the ceiling. Something out of the ordinary _had_ happened, and his mind had run in circles like a Crup chasing its own tail to avoid having to deal with it. But in the darkness and with no one to talk to, the strange thing came back and lingered stubbornly on the edges of his consciousness until Harry opened his thoughts to it. He did now, and it promptly buzzed in and occupied the whole of his mind.  
  
Small things, really. He would have been justified in ignoring them, in not seeing them at all.  
  
Except that six months around his bondmates had taught him to be more vigilant, and so he couldn’t do that anymore.  
  
Draco had started an abrupt and awkward conversation with him about Ledbetter’s training. Harry had responded cautiously, trying to figure out what he wanted. But it seemed that Draco was determined to talk about curses, and countercurses, and the peculiar twists of his body that Ledbetter used to avoid the spells that Draco and Harry flung back in return. After a while, Harry had relaxed and started to enjoy talking to Draco. He was more observant than Harry had realized he was, and he asked intelligent questions.  
  
And once, he’d looked Harry in the eye, taken a breath like someone about to step off a plank into shark-infested waters, and said, “You’re really good at Defense.”  
  
Harry blinked, said, “Er, thanks,” and moved the conversation on. Draco looked as relieved as though the sharks had turned out to be giant goldfish.  
  
 _He’s trying_ , Harry acknowledged slowly. _He complimented me, which isn’t something he often does, and I could see that he wanted to read that book he had instead of talking to me, but he_ tried. _And he didn’t give me more than one or two resentful looks the entire time. I know he expected me to want to sleep with him quickly, so it’s really a remarkable achievement that he thought about something else for an evening._  
  
It appeared that Draco might have taken Harry’s words about his selfishness to heart, and that maybe Harry should reconsider whether he would be selfish in bed.  
  
And Severus…  
  
Harry bit at a knuckle thoughtfully. Severus had acted less openly than Draco; indeed, Harry’s brain could hardly put the words “Severus” and “open” in the same sentence. But Harry had reached up to put a book back and knocked another two off the shelf, and he’d seen Severus open his mouth to comment on that, his eyes narrowed in the way they were when the comment would be a particularly harsh one.  
  
And then he’d shut his mouth again, although his nostrils flared as if smoke would pour out of them like a dragon’s. He turned back to his own book and said nothing. Harry had made sure to restore the shelves to pristine order in perfect silence, not willing to question the miracle.  
  
 _He could be trying, too. He might be. I don’t think he’s mentioned Potions in the last day or so. And he simply turned away without speaking when I told them I was going out with Cadell. Draco scowled, but he didn’t say anything, either._  
  
Harry lay there stunned when he’d finished with the thought, even though it was more or less the conclusion he’d already come to. Having it openly stated like that was—unnerving. He hadn’t expected such open moves from Draco and Severus, or so soon. Fuck, if he was honest, he hadn’t expected _any_ effort from them. He had thought they would go on doing what they wanted to, because why should they try to change simply for him? Eventually, Harry was sure, they would give up the notion of a triad because they would see that there was no way for all three of them to fit together without compromises. Then they would go back to being exclusive lovers and Harry could find someone else.  
  
Instead, they’d compromised.  
  
And Harry’s sense of fair play demanded that he do the same thing.  
  
*  
  
“But why do you use Calming Draughts? Aren’t there more powerful healing potions you could brew that would have a stronger effect on the mind?”  
  
Draco stepped slowly off the bottom step and peered around the corner into the kitchen. Harry and Severus were sitting at the table, opposite from one another. Both had cups of tea in front of them, but no steam was rising from either cup. Harry was scowling ferociously and gesturing with one hand, and Severus sat back in his chair and regarded him with that fixed stare that Draco knew was one of his signs of confusion.  
  
“One must use a Calming Draught,” Severus said slowly, “because more powerful potions have a stronger effect on the brain. There are potions that mimic Calming Draughts, yes, but they are rarely used except on patients such as those in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s, who endanger others and already have brain damage.” He pointed a finger straight at Harry. “If I used one of those on you now, you might sleep for weeks, or become quiet and dazed, or become, and stay, addicted to them in spite of having only one drink.”  
  
“Well, then, I reckon I should thank you for not using them,” said Harry, with a small shudder.  
  
Draco walked slowly into the kitchen and stood behind Harry’s chair, raising his eyebrows at Severus. _You’re discussing Potions_? he asked, directing the thought so that it should land in Severus’s mind alone.  
  
 _He came down and wished to._  
  
There was such joy along the bond with Severus—dark and shimmering joy, muted joy, like a puddle of oil with rainbows on it. Draco could have known that if he had paid attention to it before, but he had been too involved in the strange sight of Harry and Severus discussing Potions to notice anything else.  
  
Harry twisted around and saw Draco. For a moment, he froze, and the bond between them turned pale with uncertainty. Then he took a deep breath, gave a brave smile, and said, “Have you thought about brewing healing potions, Draco? Severus is acting as though you’ll be too busy with your innovations in combining Potions and Defense, but surely healing potions that partook of both would be something worthwhile.”  
  
A warm burst of happiness flooded Draco’s chest like a new sun being born. He pulled out the chair next to Harry and sat down.  
  
 _He’s interested in me, and in what I’m doing, and I didn’t even have to hint around until he picked up the theme._  
  
Harry’s eyes met Draco’s, much more hesitant than Draco thought the conversation would have warranted. Of course, perhaps he was afraid of criticism when discussing Potions, which was a subject that he knew almost nothing about. Draco had been harsh in the past when Harry made some stupid mistake.  
  
It wouldn’t be easy to stop criticizing him, but then, it hadn’t been easy for Draco to start the conversation about their training yesterday, either, knowing that Harry knew so much more about Defense than he did. He’d survived, and not felt _too_ stupid. And Harry, apart from a few odd looks, had treated it like any other conversation.   
  
Draco could do the same thing. Harry was not going to do _anything_ better than he was, except possibly Defense.  
  
“Healing potions aren’t something that interests me,” he admitted, “and a brewer’s level of success with a potion is dependent on the brewer’s level of interest in it.”  
  
“Really? I didn’t know that.” For some reason, Harry raised his eyebrows and flicked an odd glance at Severus.  
  
 _I think he believes that there is little reason to teach Potions to Hogwarts students without interest in them_ , Severus said, his mental voice puffy and amused, _if that is the case._   
  
“Well, that’s not true of all potions to the same extent,” Draco said hastily. He sat thinking for a moment, struggling with how to voice concepts he had learned so long ago that they seemed like _part_ of him, rather than added knowledge. Harry sat still, sipping his tea and never looking away from Draco’s face. “They—it’s more as if some respond to the interest that you show and others need only determination to complete them. The ones that respond to personal interest are the more complicated ones, of course.”  
  
“So the students who make it to NEWT Potions are the ones who are interested in the class itself, and not what they can use the potions for.” Harry nodded. “That makes more sense than most explanations I’ve heard.”  
  
Draco smiled back at him, flustered. He knew it wasn’t the first compliment Harry had ever given him, but it felt that way, after weeks of unfair treatment.  
  
He opened his mouth to say something else, something wise and subtle, but his stomach rumbled. Severus chuckled into his tea. Draco felt himself flush.  
  
Harry didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. He nodded and stood up. “Would you like bacon or toast?” he asked, turning towards the counter. “I’m afraid that’s all that’s on offer this morning.”  
  
Draco licked his lips and watched Harry’s back. He was being more pleasant than usual, more accommodating. Most of the time, Draco had to fix his own breakfast. “Toast, please,” he said. “With plenty of— ”  
  
“Butter,” Harry said, turning around with a grin. “I’ve noticed.”  
  
He Levitated the pat of butter over to Draco and turned back to browning the bread with a murmured domestic charm that Draco hadn’t bothered to learn yet. Draco blinked and looked at Severus.   
  
Severus tilted his head and said, _It appears that the Gryffindor sense of fair play is working for us after all._   
  
Draco would have taken the words as sarcastic, but there was a deep contentment at the bottom of their bond that stopped him.   
  
Draco ended up leaning back in his chair in wonder and watching as Harry flipped the toast over to brown the other side, a frown of concentration on his face. He shifted so that he could reach for the second piece of bread, and his sleeves slid back, revealing the entwined phoenixes on his arms.  
  
Draco put his hand on his own phoenix. _And why not? We’re in this together. Sometimes I manage to forget that._   
  
*  
  
Severus was proud of his bondmates. Despite the entirely unexpected situation they were now in, they were holding, and supporting, each other. Draco had his hand on Harry’s shoulder as if feeding him strength, but he was quiet, because the people were here to talk to Harry. Harry leaned back so that Draco could feel him, as well as the other way around, and kept his tone low and calm. Severus knew that was partially so, if he felt threatened, it would be easy for him to signal that to Draco and Severus by raising his voice.  
  
Severus himself hovered behind them both, the frightening background figure who could check the forward motion of the crowd if so needed.  
  
Because it _was_ a crowd. What seemed like most of Hogsmeade had marched into the garden, in such numbers—including parents hauling children—that Harry had asked Severus to lower the wards. Severus had done so, reluctantly. Yes, it would be a public relations disaster for them if a child was hurt by their wards, but on the other hand, they could survive that better than they could survive death at the hands of an enraged mob.  
  
What the crowd wanted to know, evidently, was why Harry wasn’t running for Minister.  
  
“I have other responsibilities,” Harry was saying now, in a terribly earnest tone that Severus knew would have simply sounded stupid coming from his mouth or Draco’s. Severus had cautioned him mentally to take a tactic like this, and Harry had agreed, but insisted on putting the matter in his own words. Severus had hesitated, but, listening to Harry now, he had to admit the wisdom of it. Harry didn’t sound like he was being coached when he spoke in his natural idiom. “I have to become a focal point for many different groups so that we can effectively oppose Minister Shacklebolt, and if I was running for Minister myself, that would just give more people a reason to hate me.”  
  
“Only stupid people would hate you!” shouted one man who looked to be almost Dumbledore’s age, though without his mobility; he was supported by two other men who were probably his grandsons. “The Minister’s proved that! You should become Minister yourself so that you have the power to do right! What could possibly be more important?”  
  
Harry smiled and moved forwards. Draco surged after him, and Harry turned to the side so that Severus had a chance to step up beside him as well. Severus didn’t waste the opportunity, glad to be able to aim his wand at the crowd without his bondmates in the way.  
  
“Figuring out the limits and possibilities of my bond,” Harry said simply. “That’s something I still haven’t done.” He shook back his sleeves so that the people in their front garden could see the phoenixes, which produced a murmur of both unease and acclaim. Severus thought that most of them had no idea how to feel about the bond, which had rid them of the Dark Lord but meant that their hero had to spend the rest of his life with Death Eaters. “Figuring out what I want to do with my life. I can’t be an Auror, but that was my dream for years. So what do I need to do now? And supporting the _actual_ candidate for Minister, Estella Colben.” He shrugged and let his arms drop down so that the sleeves covered the phoenixes again. Severus found himself oddly glad about that. He preferred it when he and Draco were the only ones who could see Harry’s markings. “I’m sure most of you have heard of her by now.”  
  
“I’ve heard rumors that you’re only using her as a figurehead,” someone called out from the back. “What would you say about that?”  
  
Harry chuckled. “Those people must not have been at the speech she made last week. She’ll accept help from us, but she won’t serve us, and anyone who imagines otherwise is stupid.”  
  
“But you could stay behind the throne and control her,” said what sounded like the same voice. A woman with long dark hair and a distressed expression was shoving her way to the front of the crowd, looking at Harry with desperate, appealing eyes. Severus suppressed a shiver of distaste. He had to hope that Harry wouldn’t fall for a look so obvious and overused. “Or someone like _him_ could.” Her eyes darted to Severus. Since he knew he would never manage to convince her that he was harmless, Severus settled for a stare so intimidating that she quickly looked away again. “Maybe he wants power, and he’ll use this Colben as a dancing puppet to achieve his desires!”  
  
Harry sighed patiently. “No, he won’t. Of course she’ll want advisers, and we may serve as those advisers. But Severus won’t control her.”  
  
“Does he control _you_?” the woman asked, dropping her voice to absurd levels in order to properly emphasize this ominous suspicion. Severus burned to teach her a lesson in _true_ drama, but held his mouth shut. Words from him at the moment would interfere with what Harry was trying to do here. “You’re calling him by his first name.”  
  
Harry blinked slowly, then put a hand to his face, overwhelmed by the stupidity. The bond throbbed with irritation, but also with pale blue amusement that kept Severus from concern. Draco moved closer to Harry anyway, and Severus thought he would not do the same; one of them playing concerned bondmate was enough for now.  
  
“Wouldn’t you call someone by his first name if you were bonded to him and would live the rest of your life with him?” Harry asked without taking his hand from his eyes. He had arranged matters so that the hand did _not_ cover his mouth. Severus approved. “Must I be an adolescent forever and refuse to face reality?”  
  
“We’re concerned about you,” said someone else, a young woman with a child on her hip whose eyes were fixed on Harry as if he were the pole-star. Severus hadn’t seen her look at him or Draco yet. “I think we have a right to ask questions like this when we’re doing it out of _concern_.”  
  
Severus could have bared his teeth at the self-righteousness, but that was hardly likely to assist Harry’s project, either. With an enormous effort, he kept his mouth closed.   
  
“No, actually, you don’t.” Harry’s voice was rough now, and he took a step forwards that caused Draco to stumble, so fast did he move. “You don’t have a right to pry into my private life with my bondmates as if it were a book that you’d bought for your amusement. You can ask me questions if I _allow_ it, and if they do.” He shook his head as though he were regretting his outburst, or at least the movement that had preceded it, and stepped back again so that he was solidly in line with Draco and Severus. “But if I give you answers to the questions, then you should accept those answers. Stop digging and assuming there’s some horrible truth beneath the surface.”  
  
The woman with the child stuck her nose in the air, even as her grip tightened on her brat. Severus wondered idly whether Harry had noticed that, and the distrust it implied, as if she believed Harry would attack her child. From the clear and blazing emotions in the bond, Severus thought not. “If your actions have a public impact, then we should be able to ask about them.”  
  
“But you don’t believe the truth even when I tell it to you.” Harry’s voice was rising now. “You wouldn’t believe anything unless it matched the preconceptions you already have! That lessens my will to talk to you.”  
  
Draco glanced at Severus, who nodded, and then Draco moved so that he was actually a bit in front of Harry, shielding him. They could both feel the buildup of lava in the bond, and they didn’t want Harry to lose his temper with innocents; his wild magic was still unpredictable sometimes.  
  
“And if he did say something that matched your preconceptions,” Draco said, his smooth voice seeming to startle everyone, “then you would accuse him of being a traitor and rush about bleating that you always knew it. So either he’s a traitor or he’s a liar. Not an attractive choice.”  
  
“What would you know about it, Death Eater?” The dark-haired woman was speaking now, her face hard. “Treachery and deception are ways of life for you. Of course you would be contemptuous when there’s an honest effort to end either one.”  
  
Draco reached slowly for his left sleeve, creating an instant, charged silence. Severus did have to admit that the boy had the beginnings of political talent in him—if he did not squander it all, given his temper. Harry watched with slowly blinking eyes and a bond that beat like the heart of a frightened creature. So far, he did not seem interested in stopping Draco.  
  
Draco ripped his left sleeve back, and then lofted his arm high and held it there. The phoenix mark glittered on his arm.   
  
Then it turned its head back and forth, blinked sleepy eyes, and spread its brilliant wings. The crowd gasped and fell back as the phoenix soared over to sit on Harry’s shoulder and nudge him with a beak of soft flame.  
  
Harry blinked, and the bond surged with something like panic, but then he reached up and began to pet the phoenix as if this had been part of their plan for confronting the crowd all along. Severus thought he was the only one who noticed that his hand shook slightly.   
  
As he _hoped_ he was the only one who had noticed the two spells Draco performed, barely moving his lips: one glamour to conceal the mark on his arm, one glamour to create a separate phoenix that was animated and send it flying to alight on Harry’s shoulder.   
  
“You see how my bird, part of my life and skin, responds to Harry.” Draco gestured, and Severus realized for the first time that there were faint strands of flesh-colored light seeming to stretch from the phoenix glamour to Draco’s arm, maintaining the connection between them. Severus’s admiration increased, and he saw Draco stiffen his back against the inclination to preen. _Little devil. He has practiced this_. “I will respond the same way.” And he turned and dropped to one knee in front of Harry, bowing his head.  
  
Harry went so alarmingly pale that Severus feared he would faint. But the bond, after an initial explosion like water around sharks in a feeding frenzy, steadied and grew bright blue and red again. He reached out and placed a solemn hand on Draco’s hair. “Rise, brave knight,” he said, his voice a whisper. That didn’t matter, with the crowd so silent now and straining to hear. “I acknowledge all that you have done for me.”  
  
Draco rocked back on his heels and looked up at Harry. Harry gave him a single intense look that made Severus want to turn away, so intimate was it. The bond throbbed with his thanks and his surprise and his sorrow that this had to happen, gold and blue and red washing around each other. Draco rose to his feet at last, looking half-drugged.   
  
Severus licked his lips. That gesture had worked out very well, where it might not have. Harry could have refused, in sheer distress, the thought of someone kneeling to him. But it worked excellently as drama for the Hogsmeade crowds, who were looking at Draco with saucer eyes and soft murmurs, and Harry, who Severus _knew_ hadn’t known anything about it, had played along as if it were planned all the while.  
  
Now he could sense eyes turning to him, and he knew they would expect another gesture of the same sort.  
  
Severus might have done it, if he had studied the glamour that Draco had used to make the phoenix seem to fly off his arm. But he had not, and without that, his simply kneeling would seem paltry next to what Draco had done.  
  
Not to mention the iron pride that made it impossible for him to submit without assurance of a real and true reward.  
  
Luckily, there was something else he could do.  
  
He drew his wand from his sleeve. The crowd tensed and scrambled.   
  
Harry never moved, looking at him with such a simple expression of trust that Severus wished, violently, that he could Apparate them to a private location. That expression deserved to be encouraged and to be explored in more detail than it could be where they stood.   
  
But, instead, Severus bowed, deeply, and held the wand out to Harry across his extended palms. “My wand is yours,” he said. He knew how to make his voice resonant, and he knew how to listen for the sharp, expelled breath from the crowd that followed it.  
  
The bond writhed and twisted, bleeding discomfort. But Harry reached out, closed his fingers around the wand without removing it from Severus’s palms, and said quietly, “I also know what you have done for me—what you did for me for long years, while I acted like a child and refused to believe in it. There’s nothing I can do to repay you now, except to say that I _believe_ in your loyalty to me.”  
  
 _And other things_ , Harry’s mind said, in a thought that lodged in Severus’s brain like an arrow.  
  
He took a risk, because at the moment he could not do otherwise. As he straightened, he peered into Harry’s eyes and looked for the image of himself as a tyrannical, dark-clad critic who would always act to destroy Harry’s hopes and confidence.  
  
The image dissolved like a flock of startled crows the moment he touched it.  
  
Severus lowered his eyes to hide his look of satisfaction as he bowed to Harry again, this time a shallower and more sincere bow, because he knew that the image that had worked most strongly to keep Harry from feeling comfortable with him was gone.  
  
Harry turned his head to look at Draco with a softened expression that Severus had never seen before, and Severus knew that Draco’s gestures must also have showed that he had less selfishness than Harry imagined. Yes, Draco had performed them mostly for show, but he’d taken a risk in not telling Harry about them beforehand—and thus had given Harry the choice to accept or reject them.  
  
Draco accepted Harry’s hand to rise back to his feet. His face was flushed, his smile secret, the bond between him and Severus singing like an exaltation of larks. Harry looked at him in wonder for a moment, as if he had never noticed before now how attractive Draco was, before he turned and cast his voice into the air above the crowd’s heads.  
  
“How many still doubt us?”  
  
No one who was stupid enough to say anything aloud, Severus deduced.  
  
*  
  
It didn’t take Harry long to corner him once they were back in the house.  
  
“I—thank you.”  
  
Draco glanced up at Harry with shyness that wasn’t entirely feigned. Harry could have reacted so badly to the gestures that Draco had planned, even in front of an audience. He might have hated to see one of his bondmates humbling himself. He might have insisted that he wouldn’t accept anyone kneeling to him, excellent reason or not. He could have said too much or blustered about trying to make an equal return, which would have destroyed the show of submission that Draco intended to put on for the crowd in the first place.  
  
But he hadn’t done any of those things. And now, in private, where Draco knew to expect equal treatment, Harry was staring at Draco as if he wanted to ask questions about what he’d done, but he had so many he wasn’t sure where to begin.  
  
Draco drank in the sight of his face, those wide green eyes fastened on him, and the feeling of the bond, which thrummed with earthquakes of interest in his next actions. Then he reached out and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.   
  
“There’s very little that I wouldn’t do for you,” he said quietly. “You must realize that by now.”  
  
Harry swallowed noisily, but he never looked away, though a deep flush overcame his cheeks, as if he were struggling to keep his gaze steady. “I do, yeah.”  
  
“But I don’t want to keep doing things like this if you don’t appreciate them,” Draco said with perfect truth. “ _Will_ you appreciate them?”  
  
Harry’s gaze turned so remote and uncertain that Draco thought he might turn around and walk away. Instead, he placed one hand behind Draco’s neck and continued his stare. The bond throbbed and cast off pinwheels of gold, which was a sign of Harry nerving himself to do something. Draco blinked back at him and said nothing. Any words he wanted to use would be sure to spoil the mood.  
  
Harry leaned forwards and kissed him, the press of lips as firm as the fingers curling around the back of Draco’s neck.   
  
Draco gasped. Harry didn’t take the chance to slip his tongue into Draco’s mouth. He waited until Draco shut his lips again, then continued the same thoughtful, temperate kiss. Draco sighed shakily through his nose and reached up to cup Harry’s cheek in encouragement, since otherwise he might think that a kiss like this was unwelcome, when nothing could have been further from the truth.  
  
Harry drew back at last, his eyes half-lidded and the bond as close to quiescent as it ever got, a green tree decorated with blue vines. Draco stared at him, then licked his lips and shut his mouth when he realized it was hanging open.  
  
“I hope that’s part of the answer,” Harry said. He paused, and his voice turned heavy, while the green and blue in the bond dissolved into each other. “And now, I’ve got to give the other part.”  
  
Draco expected him to go upstairs to find Severus, but instead, he walked to the front door. He paused only a moment to be sure the crowd of staring Hogsmeade people was gone before he opened it.  
  
“Where are you going?” Draco called.  
  
Harry glanced over his shoulder, his smile sad but edged with excitement. “To find Cadell and break up with him,” he said. “It’s not fair to keep dating him now that I know what I really want.”  
  
He was gone before Draco could express fully what an _excellent_ plan he thought that was.  
  
*  
  
 _I never thought it would be like this._   
  
Harry felt as though he’d been floating through space on a golden cloud and had only recently descended to the earth again; beauty hovered around him and tinted the edges of his vision.  
  
 _We worked together the way we worked together when the Aurors raided the house. And it wasn’t planned this time._  
  
The feeling left him as he turned onto the street that led to Honeydukes, and Harry sighed. He wasn’t looking forwards to this, as much as his mind was clear and at ease regarding Draco and Severus. They were the ones who, he thought, had the potential to offer him what he wanted, the ones he was willing to change his life for.   
  
But they were that in an entirely separate way from Cadell. Cadell hadn’t done anything wrong. He just couldn’t be what Harry wanted. And Harry had sensed that weeks ago, and still hadn’t told him.  
  
 _If I had, would it have made any difference_? Harry had to wonder as he stepped through the front door of Honeydukes. _Maybe this is for the best. Draco and Severus would almost certainly think I broke up with him just because I wanted them, and maybe they would have acted smug and triumphant and have driven me away again._  
  
With an irritated shake of his head, he managed to banish the crowding possibilities. Right now, he had to deal with the reality in front of him, not the reality he _wished_ might be true. He could see a tangled cap of dark hair behind the nearest shelf, and he turned his steps so that he was taken in that direction.  
  
“Cadell?” he called.  
  
His boyfriend came out from between the shelves and grinned at him. “Harry,” he said. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Harry swallowed. Cadell’s grin was open, wide, and friendly, and Harry knew what it would probably change into when he was finished talking. He hated inflicting that much pain on anyone.  
  
But he would be inflicting more if he let Cadell go on thinking they were going to be a permanent pair. Harry steeled himself and did his best to smile back. “Can I talk to you?”  
  
Cadell’s eyes narrowed. He must have seen something in Harry’s face that Harry didn’t want to show him so openly. “Of course,” he said. “Come this way.” He led him to the machine room he’d shown Harry once before. Harry thought they would stop there, but Cadell directed him into the private garden instead. Harry concealed a wince. Somehow this was harder in the sunshine and open air.  
  
Cadell turned and raised an eyebrow at him as he shut the door on Harry’s heels. “So?”  
  
“I think that things aren’t going to work out between us,” Harry said. “Not in any permanent way. So it would be for the best if we broke up.” His mouth was dry, and he had to wipe cold sweat from his palms on his robes.  
  
Cadell’s face went blank for a moment. Then he directed his eyes over Harry’s shoulder, and his voice turned low and savage. “This is because of your bondmates, isn’t it?”  
  
“It’s because I want them,” Harry said quietly. “And it’s true they never liked you. But they didn’t urge me to break up with you.” _Not aloud, at least_. Now that he was thinking back over the last few months, Harry could think of quite a few times when Draco or Severus had probably trembled on the verge of saying it. “I decided that it would be unfair for me to use you for sex when I never intended to give you my heart. And it’s unfair to my bondmates when I want them and they want me. And it’s unfair to me.”   
  
The longer he spoke, the easier it was. Yes, this hurt, and Cadell was turning away and folding a hand across his chest as though he’d taken a Cruciatus Curse, but honesty would solve so many problems in the long run.  
  
“Did you _ever_ intend to stay with me?” Cadell muttered.  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I’m sorry. Maybe, at the beginning. I wanted to see what would happen, whether I would like sex with a man. I found out I did. But I started thinking that I couldn’t see us changing and growing if we spent the rest of our lives together. Now I know who and what I need to do that.” Cadell winced as though Harry had stabbed him this time, and Harry sighed and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. Cadell shrugged it off angrily. “I’m sorry,” Harry repeated.  
  
“That’s not enough,” Cadell said, and turned around to face him. His lip trembled, and his eyes were wide, too bright. He was obviously struggling with desperate pride and desperate sadness, which made him look far more like Draco than Harry had ever seen. “I want someone who respects me for who I am and doesn’t think of me as an _experiment_.”  
  
Harry kept to himself the fact that Cadell hadn’t acted as though he wanted a permanent arrangement, either. At the moment, it wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Get out of my house.”  
  
“Goodbye, Cadell,” Harry said simply, and then turned and walked away from the garden. He glanced back a time or two, ready to smile if Cadell did, but Cadell stood there with his arms wrapped around his stomach and didn’t look up.   
  
_Maybe we can be friends again someday_ , Harry thought, as he stepped out of Honeydukes and let the door fall shut behind him. _Maybe not. But I am sorry that I let this go on as long as it did._   
  
For more than one reason, he thought.  
  
Against his will, his footsteps quickened as he hurried towards home.  
  
*  
  
Severus raised one eyebrow as he sat down on the couch in the middle of the ground floor sitting room. Harry had appeared in the door of the potions lab a few minutes ago and told Severus he wanted to talk to him and Draco. From his calm tone and flat stare, Severus had imagined it would be a political strategy meeting.  
  
Instead, he found Harry pacing up and down like a Death Eater before his first raid, his forehead furrowed and his breath coming fast. Draco sat on the couch already, watching him with a hungry stare. He glanced at Severus as he came in and offered a faint grin and raised eyebrow.  
  
That suggested Draco knew what this was about. And he would not look so gleeful about a political loss. Severus fastened his attention on Harry and waited.  
  
Harry whirled around to face them, his mouth locked in a crooked line. He exhaled several times, looking from Draco to Severus as if he expected to have to defend himself against them. The bond swung back and forth like a pendulum between forest-fire nervousness and sunset excitement. Severus found it hard to keep his hands still as he waited for their bondmate to speak.   
  
“I broke up with Cadell just now,” Harry said abruptly.  
  
Draco crowed for a moment before he swallowed the sound and managed to look perfectly concerned. Severus blinked several times, understanding better the emotions that had racked him through the bond two hours ago. He had been concerned about Harry at first, but the phoenix had not come to fetch him and he had felt no pain, so in the end he had concentrated on brewing the complex and difficult potion he was trying to finish.  
  
“I did it because I want to be with you.” Harry moved his hands through the quick gestures of a Shield Charm, though he didn’t hold his wand. Then he looked at them, body braced to resist a blow.  
  
Severus stood without meaning to. Harry looked up at him, pulse rapid, mouth still crooked, the bond bouncing and rotating, narrowing and opening wide again.  
  
“I am…pleased,” Severus said, his words so much an understatement that Draco laughed. Harry relaxed and gave a faint grin; perhaps he could sense much the same thing, despite the lack of the bond being open both ways. Severus gave Draco a swift look so that he wouldn’t interfere, and then stepped over to Harry and rested his fingers on his shoulders. “I understand that you gave Draco a kiss earlier. I felt it through the bond. Will you do the same thing for me?”  
  
Harry’s eyelashes fluttered as if he needed to think about it. Then he reached up and placed his hands on Severus’s shoulders, pulling his face more easily within reach. Severus closed his eyes.  
  
He had to wait a long moment before the emotions in the bond settled into a crackling blue line of steadily-burning fire and Harry made his move.  
  
His mouth was forceful enough, at least; indeed, it seemed as if he would have liked to knock Severus off his feet. Severus put his hands on Harry’s shoulders to keep the kiss balanced, and slipped two fingers into his hair. Harry shuddered as though the touch had been much more intimate. A moment later, he locked his arms around Severus’s waist and altered the angle of his mouth. Severus knew he must be craning his neck in order to bring their faces closer together.  
  
The bond stretched between Severus and Draco turned brilliant lemon-sour with Draco’s jealousy. Severus reached out an arm blindly, more than half his attention still caught up in the slide of Harry’s lips against his own.  
  
Draco practically crashed into them. Harry grunted, and Severus opened his eyes so that he could take stock.  
  
Draco was leaning in from the side so that he could reach both their mouths at once, his eyes both screwed-up in determination. Harry turned his head and roughly combed his fingers through Draco’s hair as he kissed him. Draco sighed and let his eyes flutter open, his mouth relaxed and smug, He parted his lips a moment later, and Harry’s tongue slipped inside.  
  
Harry jumped, but kept kissing Draco, and the bond between him and Severus burst into loops of fire. A moment later, Severus’s bond with Draco did much the same thing. Severus growled beneath his breath and pulled both of his bondmates closer with his arms, justified for once in being greedy of their attention.  
  
One of Harry’s hands wandered across his chest as if Harry wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Severus solved the problem by bringing the hand to his mouth and letting his tongue twist around the fingers. Harry shuddered, his eyes going blank and distant for a moment. Then he recovered and took a step back from them, breathing hard enough to wake the dead.  
  
Severus lazily eyed him: tumbled hair, brilliant eyes, flushed cheeks, swollen mouth. Because of _them.  
  
Not because of Caesarion_ , Draco’s thought said in his head, bright with exultation.  
  
 _Vicious brat_ , Severus responded, and moved his own hand through Draco’s hair as he looked at Harry in silent triumph.  
  
“All right,” Harry said, gasping as though they had spent much more time kissing than they had. He raised one hand in front of him and shook his head when Draco and Severus would have moved forwards. “I do want to be with you, but we can’t hop straight into bed.”  
  
“There’s also the floor and the wall,” Draco said helpfully.  
  
Severus pressed lightly down on Draco’s neck. Draco sighed and wriggled, but remained silent. “What will you need before you can do so, Harry?” Severus asked, with a calm tone in his voice that made Harry drop his hand and regard them appraisingly.  
  
“To talk about this,” Harry said, setting his jaw. “I need to change some of my behaviors. I need to think about you more. And I need some reassurance that you won’t—that you won’t criticize me if I’m not as good in bed as you are.” His face flushed deeply as he spoke those last words, but he spoke them, and then folded his arms.  
  
“And you need us to continue showing that we can be a bit more responsive to you, because the change cannot be all on one side,” Severus summarized.  
  
“Exactly.” Harry flashed him a grateful look. Severus gazed back with no inhibitions on his lust this time, and the flush in Harry’s cheeks grew deeper.  
  
“But as long as we do that,” Draco asked, his voice thick, “when would you say that we can share a bed?”  
  
“If it goes well enough,” Harry said, “inside the month.”  
  
It was sooner than Severus had expected. He leaned against the hold of Draco’s arm and shut his eyes in sheer, private satisfaction.  
  
Draco broke free from him and went to Harry. Severus opened his eyes to see him give Harry a fairly chaste kiss, given all the emotions that flowed through his bond to Severus and told him what Draco would have _liked_ to do.  
  
“Thank you,” Draco whispered as he drew back. “We’ve both wanted this for a while.”  
  
Harry flushed again and looked inquiringly at Severus. When Severus nodded, he swallowed and ducked his head to hide his smile.  
  
Severus had never seen him look more confused, more intrigued—  
  
Or happier.


	23. Chapter 23

  
“And how’s your boyfriend, Harry dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked as she handed a platter of potatoes across the table to him.  
  
Harry swallowed his mouthful of bread hastily and occupied himself with taking the platter. It was so heavy and awkwardly balanced that he had a legitimate excuse for being distracted, but Mrs. Weasley didn’t leave him alone for long.  
  
“How is Cadell?” she asked again, as Harry settled the platter in front of him and started spooning potatoes off it onto his own plate.  
  
There was nothing for it but to go straight through, the way he had when telling Cadell about Draco and Severus. Harry looked up with a small, brave smile, or at least a smile that he hoped was brave. “Fine, I hope,” he said. “But I haven’t seen him in almost a week. We broke up.”  
  
“Oh, no!” Mrs. Weasley frowned at him. “I do hope that he didn’t turn out to be working with Shacklebolt, or only attracted to your fame?”  
  
Harry swallowed his laughter as he handed the potatoes on to George and shook his head. Of course, it would be reasonable for her to think that that was the reason he would lose any relationship. “No. I was the one who broke up with him, actually. I decided that he wasn’t making me happy, or wouldn’t make me happy in the future.” He gave a shrug that he knew was too casual and dug into the potatoes, filling his mouth with them so that no one else could ask him a question right away.  
  
“And what do you need?” Ginny was leaning forwards across the table, eyes keen. Harry gave her a narrow glance, which she returned with a perfectly innocent smile. Of course, she was the one of the Weasleys who was most likely to realize what was really going on. Come to think of it, Hermione also looked shrewd.  
  
“A lot of things,” Harry said. He wasn’t _ashamed_ of his relationship with Draco and Severus, he told himself defensively. He simply didn’t know how to describe it. It was in a delicate place right now, when they hadn’t even slept together, and when he knew that he wanted them but would feel silly talking about _why_ to anyone else.   
  
“Oh, I see,” Ginny said, with a small, wise nod, and returned to her dinner. Mrs. Weasley looked back and forth between them for a moment, brow wrinkled as though she was trying to figure out what she had missed.  
  
“Well, I hope that you find someone who can give you that,” she said finally, and patted Harry’s arm, the closest she could give him to a maternal hug while they were all sitting down. “In the meantime, have you heard anything from Shacklebolt?”  
  
If someone had told him that someday he’d find it easier to talk about politics than his personal life, Harry decided as he answered the question, he would have thought they were mad.   
  
But his life had been one unending stretch of madness, so perhaps it wasn’t strange that that should continue now.  
  
*  
  
“Mr. Potter has agreed at last to share your bed, then?”  
  
Draco choked on his water and was actually crass enough to let a few drops of it escape down the side of his face before he could capture them. He wiped his napkin across his mouth and looked in disbelief at his mother, who was sipping delicately at the turtle soup in front of her. She looked up when he spluttered, her eyes so bright and innocent that he might have been fooled if he hadn’t known her all his life.  
  
“How do you _do_ that?” he asked, as he laid his napkin down on the table. A house-elf appeared, fetched it silently, handed him another, and Apparated away again. “I didn’t even _say_ anything.”  
  
“Your words are not my spies,” Narcissa said, with a small, self-satisfied smile that Draco knew would have changed the minds of many people who didn’t think his mother was dangerous if they could have seen her. “Your gestures are, and especially your facial expressions. You look contented this evening, and have eaten more than you usually do at one of these formal meals. That speaks to a source of great contentment recently introduced into your life, or a pressing problem solved. It was not hard to guess what would give you the most satisfaction.” Once again, she lifted a tiny spoonful of soup to her mouth.  
  
Draco sighed and shook his head, before returning to his own soup. He couldn’t conceal his emotions form his mother or inflict a similar triumph on her, because she guarded her feelings too well. But he could stretch out the silence and make her wait for a confirming response from him.  
  
“How is it,” Narcissa asked the wall, “that Mr. Potter agreed to join a pair of old enemies who must surely have their differences from and their resentments against him still, instead of finding a lover who would give her heart to him in the way that I told you he wanted the other day?”  
  
Draco smiled. That was enough of a confession of impatience for him. “We finally convinced him that we could give our hearts to him.”  
  
Narcissa turned her head, her eyes as keen as a lioness’s. “Not that you _will_.”  
  
“No,” Draco admitted. “He still has his doubts about that, and I can’t say I blame him. But it’s a great improvement over the situation as it stood three days ago, when he was convinced that we would _never_ alter our behavior to suit him one whit.” He pushed the bowl of soup back, and it promptly vanished, replaced by the roast swan that was the main course. Draco sighed as he picked up his fork and began to stab delicate bites. He wondered if he would ever convince Severus and Harry, neither of whom had been used to luxuries growing up, to appreciate foods like this one. “And I think he will come further into our embrace as he learns that we value him.”  
  
“So you are content to exist on hope.” Narcissa brought her cup to her mouth. She might have been using it to conceal a smile.  
  
“We did ask for a deadline when he might be comfortable coming to our bed,” Draco said, stung by her implied criticism. A Malfoy was never content to exist on hope. He took steps to secure what he wanted. “He said that he would be comfortable within the month.”  
  
“He is braver than I believed him,” Narcissa said, and then changed the subject so decisively as she began talking about his father that Draco did not have the heart to resurrect it.  
  
Privately, he determined that his mother should come and visit the house when Harry was safely part of their triad. She would see him there, see how happy he was, and then stop dropping her gentle doubts into Draco’s mind and disturbing his complacency.  
  
*  
  
Severus had taken care to cast several detection spells the moment he set foot on Hogwarts’s grounds. For one thing, there might be people here who would still be hostile to him, including students who had known him only as the tyrannical Headmaster of the last year and did not consider that he had been sufficiently punished for his crimes.  
  
For another, he did not want anyone to see where he was going. It was a private matter.  
  
He needed a place to pour the full cup of his thoughts, and, considering that those thoughts were about Harry and Draco and he did not want to take the risk of sowing dissension between them, he could not speak about them directly to his bondmates. He had already noticed that he spoke more in confidence to Draco than to Harry. Perhaps that was only natural when they had been lovers first, but it could not continue if Harry was to have the equal relationship with them that he had demanded.  
  
 _I never thought a time would come when my first thought would be pleasing Harry Potter_ , Severus thought, as he arrived at his destination and strengthened his Disillusionment Charm.  
  
Albus’s tomb stood in front of him, gleaming white to the casual eye. By leaning closer and fixing it with a keen gaze, Severus could see the off-white spots of bird dung, the green of small plants that had found a crack in the marble to colonize, and the grey of smoke and fog and damp that no one had yet found the time to clear away. He nodded, satisfied. The tomb was now more a representation of the soul of the man who lay buried beneath it.  
  
“No one ever understood you like me, Albus,” he said aloud. He could be content now that that was true. Kingsley Shacklebolt might wish for that understanding, but it had not come. Harry might think of the man as a beloved mentor, but he had not been aware of all his plans, or all his ruthless mercy.  
  
Mercy to the wizarding world, not to Harry himself.  
  
“He does not know,” Severus said softly, to the tomb and to the spirit that he had to picture as waiting beyond it if he was to have any confidant at all. “I have never told him the full extent of your plans. I did not think that he needed to live with more nightmares, when he had more than enough already.” He rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. “Small hints here and there, and I believe that he has some notion of the truth buried in the back of his mind. But kindness to the living—two of the living—outweighs my debt to the dead.”  
  
The tomb remained silent, of course. Nonetheless, Severus would have said there was silence and silence. Someone listening sounded different from no one doing so, and he knew that this was the former.  
  
“I do not know if this can work,” he admitted aloud for the first time. “They are both so _young_. Not physically—I accept that they are adults and can make their own decisions, and so I need not feel badly if they choose to share my bed. Not,” he added dryly, because it was the kind of thing that he would have said during his conversations with Albus, “that my moral scruples were ever overly strong. But they are both so impatient and pull so much at any restraints and look so much to the future. I am marked by the past. Scorched by it, no matter what marks I actually bear.” He stroked the phoenix on his arm. “Can someone who is top-heavy with the weight of guilt fit with two people who are growing past it and feel other emotions more than occasionally? I do not.”  
  
He shook his head and sat back on the bench in front of the tomb so that he could look around the side. Yes, that looked as spotted as the front did. “And it is more than a bit strange that I should speak to you like this,” he said, “treating you as a friend when you were the one who forced me to kill you. But if I woke one morning and my life was normal, then I would be dead before the evening was past, having killed myself in a fit of paranoia.”  
  
Severus stroked the side of his mouth and contemplated the tomb for a moment more. It would have been heartening to see Fawkes appear on top of it and cock his head at him, or a ghostly Albus walking around the side to greet him.  
  
But what was heartening did not happen in Severus’s life. What was terrifying and joyful, yes, but none of the comfortable mediocrity in between.  
  
“They are also,” he said, in the low voice that he would use to no one alive, “concerned almost exclusively with themselves, while being terrified of my opinion concerning them. They do not seem to assume that I need compliments or caresses or any of the other bindings that they depend on my flinging around them.” Severus snorted bitterly. “And I have gone so far out of my way to convince everyone that I am inhuman and do not require such small kindnesses…can I complain when I am left isolated by the success of my own tactics?”  
  
The silence changed quality, or at least Severus was free to imagine that it did. Now there was charged amusement around him. Albus was laughing, wherever he was. Severus decided that he was glad he could not receive more than that laughter’s shadow.  
  
 _Almost glad_.  
  
He rose to his feet. “I do not know what to do,” he said. “Yet. I do not wish for this difference between us, this role in which I offer compliments and they offer me nothing on the same level, to continue. And yet how can I complain, when they offer me their company, their compassion, their bodies?” He shrugged and drew his cloak tighter around him, though late May was not particularly cold. “I do not have all the words myself to define what I wish. That limits the extent to which I can make articulate complaints.”  
  
The silence listened to him, and at least it did not judge. That was the best thing about having the old man underground, Severus thought as he took his leave.  
  
*  
  
“I think I’ve found a way to do it.”  
  
Harry paused when Severus glanced up at him, his lips pressed together in a thin line. It was one of the evenings when Draco was visiting his mother, and Harry had assumed that it would be the perfect time to offer to share his memories with Severus. If it failed, then neither he nor Severus would have to suffer embarrassment in front of Draco. Harry wanted to avoid the chance for Draco to offer acid comments. He trusted him, yes, but not as much when he was faced with temptation.  
  
Looking at Severus now, he wondered why he had imagined that Draco’s tongue was rougher than Severus’s.   
  
“A way to do what?” Severus demanded, and then Harry realized that one reason he might look so grim was that he didn’t know what Harry was talking about and dreaded some impulsive Gryffindor plan.  
  
“A way to share my memories with you,” Harry explained, and sat down on the couch near Severus. That put him within reach of the private, thick aura that Severus seemed to carry around with him. Harry swallowed and tried to ignore the way that the hairs on his arms were rising. Severus was touching him with nothing but his eyes. Harry had no reason to have the images flashing through his head that he did, images from the last of their blended dreams. “I’m going to open the bond from the side.”  
  
“From the side,” Severus said, and his voice was so neutral that he might have been expressing either wonder or mockery.  
  
“Yeah. It’s hard to explain, but I can do it.” Harry shrugged. He’d done it early that morning, when he thought both Severus and Draco were asleep or struggling to wake up and so probably wouldn’t notice. “I just envision coming at the bond from the side, and it lets me do it. I almost sent my memories to you this morning, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate it without a proper introduction.”  
  
“I appreciate many gifts from you, proper or not,” Severus said, and extended his hand.   
  
Harry swallowed. “Uh, I don’t have to touch you to do this.”  
  
“But I wish you to,” Severus said, with a small bite behind the words that Harry didn’t think he would have heard if he hadn’t been listening closely.  
  
Harry nodded after a moment and laid his hand in Severus’s. The man’s skin seemed too warm, but Harry told himself that was his imagination and anyway he should stop being ridiculous. He closed his eyes and had to ignore the way those long fingers wrapped around his wrist as he reached for a memory.  
  
He’d thought it would help Severus to see that Harry himself had done stupid things during the war, things that he could be blamed for. So he’d chosen the memory of him, Ron, and Hermione breaking into Gringotts and riding out again on a dragon.  
  
He thought of the bond as a thick conduit that stretched between him and Severus, and then came at it from the side and underneath. Something shuddered in his head like a plucked bowstring, and then he opened a _small_ part of the bond, enough to share more than thoughts but not so much as emotions.   
  
The images began to pour through him and into Severus’s mind. Harry heard Severus catch his breath, and the hand holding his tightened, drawing Harry into an embrace that made him lean against Severus with his nose pressed to his chest.  
  
Harry shivered and succumbed to the urges that were running up his spine like electric currents. He grasped Severus’s neck with his free hand and relaxed fully against him, not permitting any ideas about those powerful hands crushing him or those dark eyes flashing with dislike to enter his head.   
  
He let Severus embrace him more fully than he had ever let Ginny or Cadell do, and waited for the memory to end.  
  
Severus hissed beneath his breath at several points and spread out his hand so that his fingers lay along Harry’s ribs. When the memory finished, Harry drew back into his own head and coughed.   
  
The sound was meant to signal to Severus that he could let Harry up. Instead, Severus tightened his hold and whispered into Harry’s ear, “I did not know that you had used Unforgivables so—freely during the war.”  
  
“Yeah.” Harry swallowed, and wished he could draw in a full breath. He _should_ have been able to. Severus wasn’t crushing him. It was his own stupid body that made him pant. “So you can blame me if you want.”  
  
“Why would I do that?” Severus’s voice was very low, and he seemed to like the way he smoothed his hand up and down Harry’s shoulder too much to stop. “Those spells let you survive, and you did not use them against my advice. I would have the right to be angry if I had told you not to use them and you refused to listen.”  
  
“Yeah, but—” Harry closed his eyes and shivered, which made no sense when he was warmer than usual. “I mean, I once would have said that only Slytherins would use spells like that. So you can get angry with me for being hypocritical. I wanted you to be able to see that I wasn’t perfect, either.”  
  
“I am too glad that you survived to become angry,” Severus murmured, and cupped a hand behind his head. “Can you look at me, Harry?”  
  
 _Of course_ , Harry wanted to say, but it was still unexpectedly hard to push himself upright, especially because he didn’t want to stab an elbow into Severus’s knee or gut. He cleared his throat, said, “I think so,” and then set about proving it. When he sat up, he was still in the circle of Severus’s arm, and he couldn’t say that he minded.  
  
Severus bent over him, his nostrils flaring wide, his eyes narrow in a way that Harry had often seen immediately before Severus began yelling about a potion gone wrong. But this time, he trailed his fingers down Harry’s cheek, and Harry blinked. Maybe that look was just one of intense concentration, instead of automatic disapproval.  
  
“Thank you for sharing your memory with me,” Severus whispered, directly before he kissed Harry.   
  
Harry found himself gasping and putting up his hands as if to resist the assault of an enemy. Severus caught his left hand and put it in the appropriate place, alongside his head, without pausing or flinching. He left it up to Harry to decide what to do with his right hand. Harry hesitated, then began to run his fingers gently, gingerly, through Severus’s hair. It slid and hissed along his palm, oily but less greasy than he had expected.   
  
_I’m so new at this_ , he thought ruefully, before Severus’s tongue pried open his lips and he had something else to think about.   
  
Harry moaned. Severus was interested in _deeper_ kisses than Cadell had been, in acquainting himself with every corner of Harry’s mouth, and he apparently didn’t need to breathe. Harry was gasping before the end of the kiss, but he didn’t want to pull away. He clamped his hands in place until Severus grunted in pain, and then he softened the grasp of his left hand to a caress and murmured, “You’re really good at this.”  
  
For no reason that he understood, that made Severus pause and then pull back to hover over him. His eyes were heavy and sensual, but the pleasure in them was brighter and sharper than Harry would have expected.  
  
A moment later, he shook his head and said, “So you would say, because you have been with so few.”  
  
“That’s _not_ the reason I’m saying it,” Harry snapped, irritated that Severus persisted in misunderstanding him. He shoved himself away from his bondmate and ended up sitting on the other side of the couch, glaring at him. “I’m saying it because you make me feel as though I could sit there and go on kissing you until all my air runs out and not care. I’m saying it because you make me feel good, and someone who can do that is good, and it doesn’t matter if he has a lot of fucking _experience_ or not.” He folded his arms. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to go to bed with you, because I _knew_ you’d start doubting my opinions because I haven’t had as many lovers as you have had.”  
  
Severus hesitated, his eyes narrowing further. Harry lifted his chin. If Severus lashed out with words, then Harry would meet him with harsher ones. He was not about to back down or let his bondmates trample all over him because some things had changed between them. His desire for equality with them never would.  
  
Then Severus said stiffly, “I am…unaccustomed to compliments. I fear that my first recourse is to deny them.” He bowed his head so that his hair hid his face. “That was the cause of my words, rather than any wish to deny that you might know what you like and what you do not.”  
  
Harry hesitated in turn. He wanted to believe that what Severus said was the truth, and it did _sound_ convincing. Of course, Severus could also have acted true to his nature out of instinct and be trying to backtrack to cover that.   
  
But if he didn’t have some level of trust in his bondmates, then he might as well move out of the house right now. Or open the bonds the other way. And he wasn’t ready for that yet.  
  
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. All right.” Then he slid closer again, nerving himself to offer another compliment and to touch Severus’s hair again, despite the criticism that might snap out at any moment. “I meant it. You’re a good kisser. And, I, um.” The next words he wanted to speak made his cheeks flare red, and he had to cough “And I like the fact that you want me as much as you do and hold me as close.”  
  
“Really?” Severus’s voice had dropped so that Harry could feel the vibration in his chest. “Why would that be, I wonder?”  
  
Harry bit his lip. He mumbled the words, because making his voice too loud was out of the question. “Because I haven’t had a lot of people want me for _me_. I get the impression that you do, and I like the gestures that, um, that p-prove you do.”  
  
Severus bowed his head without saying anything. Harry waited tensely, sure that some words would come along in a moment to show that he had been wrong about Severus, but instead he heard a delicate sniff, as if Severus wanted to absorb the smell of his hair.   
  
When he spoke again, it was only to say, “Thank you.”  
  
*  
  
Severus knew the silent language of Draco’s expressions and half-made gestures, though he doubted that Harry would have noticed. That was not any reflection on Harry’s experience or lack of experience; he simply did not know Draco as well as Draco would have liked yet.  
  
 _I now defend Harry from accusations that might be made against him even in my own head,_ he thought with some amusement.  
  
But it was a small effort to do so. Especially when Harry had given him a compliment without even thinking about it and then given him another. Severus had complained to Albus that neither of his bondmates would look for the small things that might matter to him or see them as important. Harry had proven him wrong, conclusively.  
  
Severus wondered if Draco would someday do the same thing.  
  
But, for now, Draco was in need of him. They were sitting at a table as honored guests, listening to Estella Colben make another speech. Several people from Hogsmeade were close to the stage, and Draco and Severus had both seen Cadell Caesarion in a chair two rows back, his arms folded and his steady, brooding stare fixed on Harry.  
  
Draco bit his lip and shifted his foot back and forth. Severus understood his restlessness. Draco would have liked nothing better than to march off the stage and ask why Caesarion had come here instead of staying away. Harry had broken up with him decisively. What more did he want?  
  
So far, Draco’s good sense had restrained him. But his left hand closed into a fist, and the bond between them was leaping with sparks that were building gradually into a wall of fire. In a few moments, he would think that no one would really _notice_ if he were to begin to make some small insulting signals to Caesarion, and believing that no one would notice something was one step away from doing it, at least for Draco.  
  
Harry could have calmed him at once if he had seen the situation. But he was watching Colben with a critical expression, judging her words for the amount of opposition to Kingsley Shacklebolt and the current Ministry they carried, and his bond showed nothing but bright purple determination. Severus didn’t think him likely to look away and notice in time to prevent Draco from embarrassing himself.  
  
It was up to Severus.  
  
Thanks to Harry’s compliments, he resented what seemed to be one of his permanent roles in the bond less than he might have done.  
  
He put a hand on Draco’s shoulder and caught his eye when Draco turned his head, whip-quick, towards him. He shook his head, once. Draco frowned at him, and then launched a thought at Severus. _Did you see him there? He can’t live with what he caused himself. He deserves to be punished for coming here and acting like a child.  
  
You would be the one who would seem to be acting like a child if you did_ , Severus answered. He saw Harry’s head twitch a bit, and a golden fish of curiosity darted along his bond. Severus paused for a moment. He had not realized before that Harry could sense the transfer of thoughts between him and Draco, though Severus often caught the edge of thoughts that Harry had not meant to share. He mentally changed his opinion of the boy’s sensitivity and intelligence.   
  
_No, not boy. Young man, the way you think of Draco. You really must make them equal in your mind, or risk your sense of difference between them coming out in your speech—which you know Harry would despise you for._  
  
Severus made a mental note to put that into practice later, and continued at a lower “level,” muffling his voice in the way that he would muffle his Legilimency if he were creeping into a hostile mind. _Harry hasn’t noticed that he’s here. Whatever Caesarion’s reason for coming, Harry would not think it sufficient reason for our retaliation.  
  
But Harry dismissed him_! Draco’s leg was tapping hard enough to shake the table they sat behind now. _Why can’t he give up and go away?  
  
Would you give up and go away if Harry dismissed you_? Severus asked, while deliberately projecting glacial calm. It wasn’t hard to influence Draco through the bond, while it would be impossible with Harry until the moment (which seemed distant right now) that he opened the bonds both ways.   
  
_He wouldn’t do that to me_ , Draco said, but Severus’s words and emotions had checked him. He lowered his head for a moment until he could control his scowl, then looked up at Colben with such a concentrated expression of attention that Severus wanted to laugh.   
  
He kept one hand on Draco’s shoulder as he turned to face the crowd again. Draco, far more than Harry or Severus himself, needed to be caressed and cajoled and appreciated. He was a paradox, observant enough of other people when he tried to be, but utterly incapable of applying that same observation to himself.  
  
 _Perhaps I should have him watch a Pensieve memory of himself someday_ , Severus decided. _It might prove enlightening for him._  
  
He caught Caesarion’s eye and sent a subtle blade of Legilimency slicing out. It would be as well to make sure that the boy had no evil intentions, though Severus was sure that Harry would have sensed some intent to harm him while they were dating.  
  
 _Unless the intention to harm him is more recent, of course._  
  
But the Legilimency detected no hint of evil at all. The boy was resentful and sorry and wistful. He had come to the meeting simply to get a closer look at Harry and to make sure that he was all right—and maybe to look at his bondmates and see whether they were good enough for Harry, though that wish hid at the back of Caesarion’s mind and he might not even have been aware of it.   
  
Severus shook his head and pulled free from the grip of Caesarion’s thoughts before he could notice Severus staring at him. It seemed that Harry had a talent for picking lovers who honestly wished him no harm. Caesarion was no more a danger than Ginny Weasley.  
  
He told that to Draco, who gave him a resentful glance, but then sighed out through his nose and sank lower in his chair. Severus stroked his shoulder one more time before he pulled his hand back.  
  
Harry darted them both a glance that combined amusement and concern. _Are you all right?_  
  
Severus decided that it might have been a little premature for him to decide that Harry noticed nothing beyond his immediate environment. _Yes_ , he said. _A minor worry has been raised, discarded, and settled._  
  
Harry nodded to him and then faced Colben again. Severus did his best to pay attention as well. In truth, the woman seemed a competent politician, with an understanding of leadership and delegation, and able to charm a crowd. Time alone could say whether she would succeed as Minister, but Severus was willing to give her the chance to try.  
  
*  
  
“I wish I knew what Kingsley was _playing_ at.”  
  
Draco paused. He had been on his way from the lab to the kitchen for an afternoon snack—Severus absolutely forbade eating in the lab—but the frustrated exclamation had caught his attention. He peered into the sitting room and found Harry sitting there, staring at a letter in his lap and shaking his head.  
  
“Another strange message?” Draco asked, wandering over and sitting down beside Harry. Once he wouldn’t have done that without an invitation, and he _did_ see Harry’s shoulders tense and then fall before he glanced over at Draco with a faint smile. But the smile was welcoming enough, and the emotions flowing through the bond were all smooth waves instead of pointed weapons. Draco put his chin in his hand and tried to look as helpful and intelligent as possible.  
  
Harry’s smile quivered for a moment, as if he found the effort laughable— _he had better not_ —but then he glanced back at the letter in his lap, and his mouth tightened. “Yeah,” he said. “The last one only said he was sorry. This one—” He shook his head again and handed the letter straight to Draco.  
  
Draco read it quickly. This time, it said, _I am sincerely sorry, Harry. I understand why you would feel the way you do, but I am asking you to reconsider splitting the wizarding world apart with a general election._  
  
“I can’t tell if he’s trying to hold onto his power,” Harry said meditatively, running his fingers through his hair, “or if there really is some other factor that we haven’t considered which might make it bad to hold a general election now.”  
  
“Or both,” Draco said, a little irritated that Harry had already covered the most reasonable options instead of leaving one open for him to comment on.  
  
Harry nodded. “Or both,” he repeated, heaving out a little sigh as he leaned back against the couch. “Of course, even if that factor does exist, it doesn’t mean a general election is a bad idea for us, only for Kingsley. And I think we’ve gone too far with it to end it now.”  
  
“We won’t _end_ it,” Draco said. “Of course we can’t. This isn’t just an apology and an offer of good faith. If it was, he would explain to you straight out why it’s a bad idea to have an election now, and he would tell us anything else he knows that we might not have thought of.”  
  
Harry shot him a glance that combined admiration and annoyance. “Even with his pride possibly getting in the way? Would you tell an enemy something that might hurt you if they’d humiliated you?”  
  
Draco sighed and folded his arms. “I wouldn’t want to,” he admitted. “But I’m me, and not someone like Kingsley, who presumably holds the ideals of the Order of the Phoenix dear and cares more about Britain than his own political career. So I thought he might. So that means that he’s not making a good faith effort to talk to us.”  
  
“I don’t truly think so, either.” Harry rolled his eyes and set the letter aside. “And that means that he’s trying to get us to stop the election and feel sorry for him, and nothing else. There’s no offer of a truce there.”  
  
Draco applauded. “Wonderful,” he said, when Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Sometimes, you _can_ use reason.”  
  
Harry abruptly turned around so that he was facing Draco fully, his hands clenching in front of him. Draco blinked. What he had just said wasn’t insulting compared to most of the things he’d hurled at Harry over the years, and yet the bond now showed a line of cliffs marching along a bleak seashore.  
  
“This is one of the things you do that I hate the most,” Harry said in a tone that made Draco clamp his hands on the cushions so that he could keep from backing away. “You act as if I’m _stupid_. You know that I don’t know as much about Potions as you do. Fine. But somehow, for you, that translates into insulting my intelligence at every turn. If I fight back, you get all self-righteous and hurt. But this? This is _fine_ to you. I should have known that it wouldn’t really change when I agreed that we would try to become lovers. It would just hurt more.” He turned away, the scowl on his face looking like it was set into stone, and began to stand.  
  
Draco reached out and grasped him around the waist, pulling Harry backwards and into him. He had a vague vision of Harry sitting on his lap while Draco stroked his hair and explained to him that insulting him was just an instinctive reaction by now and not something that he _meant_ , and that he’d try to control it better in the future.  
  
He had forgotten about Ledbetter’s training, and the fact that it included advice on what to do if someone grabbed you from behind.   
  
Harry’s elbow jabbed into his ribs. Draco reeled, dazed, and the second elbow hit him in the forehead. Harry turned around to face him as Draco’s arms fell limp and visibly hesitated, restraining himself from giving a third blow.  
  
“Look,” he hissed, as Draco rubbed the forming bruises on his abdomen and face. “I don’t care what your justification for it is. The fact remains that you’d get upset if I treated you that way, but you think it’s perfectly fine to do to me. And Severus is probably on his way now because I hurt you, but if he doesn’t care about me being hurt because of your words, then I don’t see why I should care what he thinks.” There was settled bitterness in his words. Once again, he started to turn away.  
  
Draco gathered all his courage, all his diplomacy, and all his inner strength, and spoke the only words that would do him any good right now. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Harry froze, but didn’t turn around, instead folding his arms. “I don’t believe you.” His voice was taut and wary.  
  
Draco could feel grave consideration from Severus through the bond, as grey and heavy as swamp moss. For the moment, he was holding back from intervening, though he must be aware of what had happened.  
  
Draco was grateful. This mess was between him and Harry, and he would have to be the one to settle it.  
  
“I mean it anyway.” Draco stood up, wincing as the pain radiated up and down his side. He felt a brief flash of anger at Harry for that, but he took a deep breath and put off the urge to demand an apology of his own. Things would never be settled between them if he tried to get too much from Harry at once. “I didn’t realize—I should have thought about the fact that we insulted each other in Hogwarts and I was usually trying to belittle you or your friends then. You couldn’t have any reason to think that I’d changed my mind now if I hadn’t changed my tactics.”  
  
Harry turned one shoulder towards him, a small motion that showed he was listening, though Draco knew better than to attach much hope to it.  
  
“This time, though,” Draco said, plowing determinedly through all sorts of words that he hated speaking aloud, “I mean the apology. I insulted you because that’s what I _do_ , automatically. It’s easier to promise myself that I’m going to change my behavior than to actually do it.” Harry’s shoulders relaxed at that, and the bond turned to soft and surging waves. Draco reckoned that was a truth that Harry already knew about himself, making Draco’s words seem familiar instead of entirely new. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I would have complained a lot more about being bonded to you if I did. You’re brilliant at Defense. I said that the other evening, and I meant it, too. I just—it’s hard to remember to compliment you because for so long I would have thought it strange to do it.”  
  
Harry faced him, this time looking him earnestly in the eyes. Draco didn’t know what he was looking for, especially since he couldn’t use the bond to be sure of what he found, so he stood still himself and concentrated on looking as generically honest as possible.  
  
“All right,” Harry said. He licked his lips several times, then bowed his head and let his arms fall open. The bond melted and flowed with seawater that eventually became the calm ocean under sunlight that Draco knew was the biggest sign of Harry feeling mellow. “All right,” Harry repeated, and looked up with a faint smile. “I’m sorry for hitting you.”  
  
Draco moved forwards a few steps, his eyes darting back and forth from Harry’s eyes to his hands. Harry stood and watched him come, raising an eyebrow as if asking why Draco wanted to come closer to him at this point.  
  
Draco reached out and cupped Harry’s cheek, stroking with two fingers while his thumb slid under Harry’s chin. Harry stiffened and raised his head. His expression was a warning: if Draco struck at him, then he would strike back, and probably hard enough to snap Draco’s head back with the force of it.  
  
Draco leaned in and kissed him instead.  
  
For long moments, it was unpleasant, kissing a pair of stiff lips that refused to do anything but clamp shut. Then Harry sighed through his nose, raised a hand, locked it into Draco’s hair, and kissed him back, hard.  
  
This was a much stronger wrestle of tongues than Draco had ever engaged in with Severus. He and Severus were after their mutual pleasure, and so it didn’t matter much who won the mild contests between them. Harry was out to prove something, and he shoved his tongue into Draco’s mouth as though he were trying to conquer it.  
  
Draco wouldn’t let him, though he briefly considered it for a moment so that Harry would feel like he had won something this morning. But in the end, they’d both apologized, and that tipped the score between them back to even, as far as Draco was concerned. If Harry wanted this victory, he would have to earn it.  
  
He dug his fingers into Harry’s scalp and prickled him with his nails. Harry moaned, and shoved his hips forwards like his tongue. Draco could feel his erection, and shifted so that he could match it with his own.  
  
For a long, ecstatic moment, Draco thought that Harry would let him go on rutting until they came together, but Harry shuddered and flattened his hand across Draco’s chest, shaking his head. Draco took a step back.  
  
“Well,” Harry mumbled, when he could get back his breath, “that’s a much better way of settling our arguments than I’m used to.”  
  
Draco gave him a wicked grin and leaned in further. “Imagine how much better it will feel when you’re ready to join me and Severus in bed. Imagine two pairs of hands exploring you, two cocks rubbing against yours…”  
  
Harry was capable of a delightfully fiery blush, Draco saw. He took several deep breaths to calm down, without noticeable effect, and then shook his head and walked towards the stairs. He paused on them, though, and glanced over his shoulder. “Draco?”  
  
“Yeah?” Draco hoped that there would be a compliment on his face, or maybe the taste of his mouth.  
  
“I’m not the only one who could use more compliments,” Harry said. His smile was gone, and he leaned forwards so that he was staring directly into Draco’s eyes. “Try it with Severus, too.”  
  
He was gone before Draco could ask what he meant or why that was so important, but the steady flow of emotions through the bond said he’d been dead serious.  
  
And the bond between Severus and Draco was frozen like marble in surprise.  
  
Draco sat down on the couch with a bump. It seemed he had more than one kind of hard thinking to do.


	24. Chapter 24

  
“Harry?” Hermione’s voice was impatient. “We’ve tried to explain this several times now, but you keep not paying attention.”  
  
Harry brought his attention back to Hermione and gave her a wan smile. “Sorry,” he said. They were sitting in his bedroom, with Harry on the bed, Hermione on a chair, and Ron on a stool that he had conjured up himself and kept saying was comfortable, despite all the available evidence. “But do you think something is wrong? With the weather.” He frowned out the window. The clouds were grey and thick, but that wasn’t unusual for Scotland. The wrong thing seemed connected with the wind, which was too quick and hot, or the colored haze hanging around the sun, or something else. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what bothered him; every time he thought he could, it would seem to change back to normal, and the unsettling thing would sneak around to another place in his vision. “Maybe we’re going to get a storm,” he added, though he couldn’t remember feeling like this before a storm any time in the past.  
  
“Nothing is wrong with the weather,” Hermione said, and rapped her wand on the parchment in front of her. “We’re trying to investigate Colben’s background, remember? Ron thought there was something strange about it, and he was right.”  
  
Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to fix his attention on Hermione’s words. Colben was the candidate they had committed so much to at this point that it would be hard to change their minds. If Ron and Hermione said there was something wrong with her, then he ought to be concerned. “What is it?”  
  
“There’s no record of anyone from the Colben family ever marrying a Muggleborn.” Ron’s forehead was wrinkled, his cheeks red, his voice low with excitement. “I _thought_ I remembered something about their name, and when I looked it up, I found out that they were involved in the last big round of Muggle-hunting, right before it was declared illegal. The head of the family then, Redworth Colben, declared that no descendent of his should ever marry a Muggleborn, or they’d be exiled from the family.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “So what?” The irritating thing had now become the wall of his bedroom, which he scowled at before he turned back to Ron. “It could be like Sirius. His parents disowned him and blasted his name off the tapestry, but he still called himself a Black.”  
  
“Yeah, but the marriage records don’t show anything, either.” Ron was almost bouncing up and down on the stool at this point. It fell over, and he picked himself up, shaking his head as though he’d meant to do that. “Hermione and I checked. No Colben marriage in the last fifty years except with a Rosier woman who died the next year.”  
  
Harry exhaled hard and tried to ignore the sensation that the bedroom wall was rippling and steaming at him. “It’s suspicious,” he admitted. “Have you asked anyone who might support the story or know the truth? Like Swanfair?”  
  
Ron gave him a superior look, which Harry thought was bloody unfair of him, considering how new to politics they _both_ were. “Swanfair would have every reason to lie about it, Harry. She wants us to accept Colben, probably because she thinks that she can manipulate her the way she can’t manipulate you.”  
  
“And lying about her heritage would give Swanfair something to blackmail Colben about,” Hermione added quietly. “At the very least, we need to investigate this further, Harry. It would be worse to support the wrong candidate for Minister than to support no one at all.”  
  
Harry thought about saying he didn’t believe that, but in the end he had to nod. Kingsley had done some stupid things while in office, and it had meant more pure-blood families leaving the country and more people muttering about how they had always known they couldn’t trust Dumbledore’s old servants. If Colben would widen the gap between pure-bloods and Muggleborns, or other parts of the wizarding world, then they couldn’t risk having her in office. “All right. How do you think we should go about this?”  
  
Now the floor seemed to vibrate. When Harry put a hand on it, though, it was perfectly solid. He sighed and ignored the odd looks he got from Ron and Hermione as he tried his very hardest to pay attention to their notions about research—which Ron kept interrupting Hermione to explain with all the enthusiasm of a convert.  
  
*  
  
Draco tossed his head back and shook it. Then he put it down again and concentrated on the vial in front of him. Half a mashed gooseberry tart, mixed with the carapace of a scarab. The gooseberry tart had been large. Draco was worrying that it had been too large for the recipe to work. The book he was working out of was so old that the Potions master who wrote it hadn’t bothered to include measurements on most of the ingredients, seeming to assume that anyone who read from the book would have learned personally from him and wouldn’t need numbers on the pages.  
  
 _A snake’s slithering across the ceiling._  
  
The impression was so strong that Draco had to dig his elbows into the table and grit his teeth to keep himself from looking up. He’d been looking up all morning. There was no reason for it. It was time to get to work and think about this potion. If he was right, then he could combine it with a spell in the way he had the potion for seeing through the wards and create one that would come in useful in battle.  
  
If he was right. But that would never happen, he would never get to see if he was right or not, if he couldn’t concentrate.  
  
Draco sat back with a scowl. He didn’t understand why this had happened to him. He had concentrated in the middle of Severus’s Potions class when he hadn’t had any sleep the night before, and Vince was poking him in the side and whining at him to explain the instructions. He’d tried to impress Slughorn during his sixth year despite having the fates of his parents and the Dark Lord’s threats weighing on his mind. Scattered impressions that had haunted him all morning shouldn’t compare to that.  
  
Yet the small things proved more effective in distracting him than any of the larger ones. Draco sighed and scratched his forehead .There was probably some intense philosophical lesson in there, of the kind that Ledbetter would tell him to study and learn from, but he didn’t care to investigate it right now.  
  
The potion. Yes.  
  
He sighed again and picked up the vial. A scratching, prickling sensation on the side of his hand, as though someone with claws had just reached out and closed those claws around his wrist, made him start. The vial slipped through his fingers. Draco made a desperate grab with his other hand and barely managed to catch it.  
  
 _What the fuck is wrong with me?_  
  
He didn’t know, but he was starting to hate it.  
  
Severus would say that he couldn’t work on the potion in this state, and it was worse than folly to try and force work he couldn’t do out of himself; it was poison to any _good_ effort that he might actually put forth. Draco stood and walked out of the lab. So far, the cauldron had nothing but water in it, and the fire burning gently beneath it would go out on its own if it began to cause destruction. The ingredients waiting in their vials were all static and harmless.   
  
Draco took a deep and grateful breath as he emerged into the sitting room. Maybe he would go to the kitchen and get something to eat. That would at least provide him with a distraction from the distractions.  
  
At least, he thought it would until he stepped into the kitchen and saw a fleeting glitter of green on the counter, like a snake hiding in nonexistent grass.  
  
Draco had better control of his accidental magic than he used to have, or he might have blown out every window in the kitchen.  
  
*  
  
When the twitches and flinches in his concentration began, Severus ignored them. He buried himself in his book and tightened his Occlumency shields. He suspected that someone from Hogsmeade had decided to try a new assault on their wards. It didn’t matter. Should they get far enough under or through them, they would find the quietly sleeping surprises that Severus had set up without telling Harry, because he knew it would involve thrashing through tiresome moral scruples. The spells weren’t Dark or illegal, and they were far less violent than the Gut Chewing Curse that had caused so much trouble when Huxley used it on Harry. That would have to be enough.  
  
Then a soft burn distracted him. He turned his head and saw the phoenix on his left arm glowing with blue flame.  
  
Severus narrowed his eyes and laid the book down quietly on a table beside him, where he cast a protective spell that should keep it sheltered from any violence invading the house. It was a rare Potions manual that he had gone to some trouble to acquire in the days when he still served the Dark Lord. Then he rose to his feet and felt out cautiously through the bonds. His sense of Harry and Draco’s emotions had dimmed when he raised his Occlumency shields.  
  
Harry was uneasy and restless, but those emotions melted and flowed into each other so quickly that Severus deduced it was only some low-level distress that affected him. He was not in pain.  
  
Draco’s bond flickered with images of snakes, and the milk-white irritation that never seemed to be far from the surface. Fewer conclusions to be drawn from that, Severus thought, but at least he was not afraid.  
  
 _If my bondmates are not in danger, why should the phoenix burn? And why should it be blue flame, instead of the red and gold it has always been?_  
  
Abruptly, he turned his head and fixed his eyes on the large book about accidental bonds that stood on the edge of the shelf above his chair. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the pages that he had studied, and almost see the words written there. His memory was not perfect, so he could not recall entire books when he had read them only once, but it was a good trick for finding the precise place in a text where the information he wanted was.  
  
He reached up, snatched the book down, and flicked at once to page 180.  
  
 _…one of the strangest conditions of accidental magic is a degree of prescience. When the bondmates have become accustomed to each other and accept that their individual survival is interlinked, they may be able to sense danger that would threaten that survival. Unfortunately, such signs are never consistent between one bond and another. One can only hope to recognize the sign when it comes._  
  
The distraction he had felt all morning, and which it seemed that Draco and Harry were also feeling, the little twinges of distress—  
  
Severus turned his head and threw two thoughts, one to Harry, one to Draco. _I think we may be under—_  
  
The house quaked and wailed like a beast in pain.  
  
*  
  
Harry was thrown from his chair when the house shuddered. He grasped and grabbed onto the floor for a moment; he hated the feeling that everything was sliding away from him. But he stood up in the next minute, because both Ron and Hermione looked terrified and his first instinct was still to protect.  
  
“What’s going on?” Ron’s face was so pale his freckles seemed to stand out like his eyes. He drew his wand and started towards Hermione. Another buckle and jolt threw him, and he ended up near Hermione, who flung her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.  
  
“I don’t know.” Harry aimed his wand at the far wall and tried to turn it transparent, a trick that Ledbetter had taught him. It wouldn’t turn.   
  
At the same moment, he finally noticed the blue glow coming from the phoenixes on his arms, and heard Severus’s thought cutting off in the middle, which sent more wild thoughts spiraling through his head.   
  
What if his bondmates were hurt, and he wouldn’t know, because the phoenixes couldn’t pull him anywhere when they were already in the same house? What if the blue flame was the sign that one of them was already suffering from a wound that would kill them?  
  
Without another pause for thought, he opened the bonds fully.  
  
*  
  
Draco barely managed to roll out of the way as the kitchen table pitched forwards at him. The first shock threw him to the floor and cracked his head against it; the second made him realize he hadn’t just lost his footing and infuriated him. He’d already started to turn around so that he could get to his feet when he saw a moving shadow and reacted to it instinctively. That was the only reason he missed the table.  
  
 _Someone’s attacking the house_ , he thought as he drew his wand. His mind was strangely clear, the way Ledbetter had said it might become in an attack. His thoughts had forever to move, and he could almost watch them doing it. His phoenix shimmered with blue flame. _I’ll have to find Harry and Severus in the middle—the training room would be safest, there’s no heavy furniture in there to fall over—_  
  
He started to reach for his bondmates, so that he could figure out where they were. The bonds were so alike in harsh and leaping excitement that he didn’t know which one was which at the moment.  
  
The bonds opened.  
  
Draco shuddered, larger than himself, larger than the earthquakes that grabbed the house and shook it like a pair of dice. He ascended to a height of clarity and rapidity of thought that astonished him, until he realized that it should have been like this all along and accepted it as the natural order of things.  
  
Without much hesitation, he grasped the reins of the bonds and knotted them together under his claws, under his wings. Harry barely struggled against him before he agreed, because as quickly as Draco had the thought, Harry had it, too. Severus took a bit longer to submit, but he trusted in the strength of Draco’s intentions if not in his half-formed plans, and contributed his experience and strength without murmuring, much.  
  
 _Now_ , Draco said, as Severus’s knowledge of the wards and Harry’s knowledge that he couldn’t turn the wall transparent flooded him. _That means that they’re using Blinding Glamours on us. That argues for a spell that would be fairly visible if they weren’t using the glamours_. Another shock annoyed him briefly, but he was large and hovering and the shocks couldn’t reach him. Besides, the magic of the bond, spread about them in a shimmering tent, protected their physical bodies, so there was nothing to worry about on that score. _And the feeling of those shocks argues for an Earthquake Tunnel.  
  
Earthquake_ —Harry started to ask, but Severus fed him the knowledge like a nursemaid spooning food into a child’s mouth. Draco laughed to feel Harry’s scowl at the comparison, and then Harry understood and nodded. The spell involved digging under a building with magic, locating every weak point in it, and then launching the magic up through the earth, directed specifically at those weak points. Sooner or later, the sturdiest building would shake itself apart.   
  
_They don’t want the rest of Hogsmeade to see what they’re doing_ , sang the blended thought in Draco’s mind, mingling the tones of Harry’s and Severus’s voices until he couldn’t tell which words had begun with which person. And that was natural and the way it should be, so Draco didn’t feel the panic that he knew was hovering in the back of Harry’s mind. _It’s not someone from Hogsmeade itself. It can’t be the whole town. That cuts down one round of suspects.  
  
We must—  
  
Open our eyes_ , said both of them, completing Draco’s thought, Severus’s voice flavored with impatience, Harry’s with excitement. Draco turned towards the outer wards, lifted his head higher and higher into the air, and then opened a pair of enormous eyes that tilted from three directions, thanks to the three perspectives involved.  
  
Draco found himself/themselves looking down from the top of the house at the garden. A circle of robed and masked figures surrounded it, chanting loudly. A Blinding Glamour shone behind them like a heat shimmer, protecting them from being seen should someone pass in the street. The Earthquake Tunnel opened at their feet, a yawning purple pit, and connected with the white strings that extended from their wands. As Draco watched, the house shook and quivered again.   
  
_Who are the enemies_? Harry was the one who spoke the question, but it ended up in Draco’s mind with a twist of Severus’s curiosity.  
  
 _Aurors, it seems_. Harry laughed disgustedly, Severus growled in harmony, and Draco spread his wings and flexed his claws. He could feel the dangerous simmer of heat that rose from the phoenix marks on all their arms, the army of birds that waited, head bowed and beaks shut, inside him. _I could annihilate them. I could burn them to death._  
  
In his mind, the flames rose. Harry sighed with longing. Severus offered grudging admiration and his own longing, darker and brighter at once, because he had spent more time becoming familiar with his worse emotions than Harry had. Harry noticed and beat back the desire with flapping cloths of horror. Severus laughed at him. Draco shook his head and subdued the fires. No, Harry would try to pull himself out of the bond if they did that.  
  
 _Not fire_ , Harry whispered. _There must be some other way to handle them.  
  
What would you suggest_? Draco craned his head back on his long neck. The house shuddered, and he heard a loud clang that suggested something metal had fallen over—and therefore it was probably damage to the lab. _I don’t think they’ll stand around politely while we think of something non-harmful.  
  
Let us impress them_ , Severus said, his words leaping about like wild cats taking to the branches to hunt reluctant prey. _They cannot see us yet. Let us manifest and give them something to think about.  
  
Of course_. And Draco reached out and gathered the images from Harry’s and Severus’s minds without hesitating, combining them with his own thoughts. He knew what Harry and Severus would think impressive, and of course he knew what _he_ would think impressive, and it was no problem at all to sort and recombine them.   
  
Then he shook the images out in front of the casting wizards, Aurors or otherwise, like a great flaming banner.  
  
He heard their shrieks, stabbing into his ears like diamond-tipped drills. He _saw_ their shrieks, streaking upwards like light from a body struck with the Flaming Boils Curse. He _smelled_ their shrieks, pure red-black temptation to the predator inside them, which made his claws open and their beak part in hungry anticipation.  
  
 _Now._  
  
The voice was all of theirs, and Draco spread his wings and stooped on them.  
  
They ran before the great phoenix, screaming still. Draco didn’t kill them, though he could have, so easily it was laughable. Of course, that very ease diminished the accomplishment he would have felt if _had_ killed them. It was better to flit above their heads, lowering his beak casually now and then, stabbing right next to one of them and cutting open the ground with a chomp or a stamp. They would scream and run faster. They seemed to have forgotten how to Apparate, so terrified were they.  
  
 _No_ , said Severus, laughing like a lion. _Our magic creeps into their brains and prevents them from Apparating unless we want to._  
  
The notion of a power that great swept through all of them and steered their wings back upwards, where Draco hurled a shriek of his own into the sky, mighty and ecstatic. They were so powerful. Was there nothing they could not do?  
  
 _Heal the house_ , Harry said.  
  
Draco turned, floating back towards the house and letting most of the attackers Apparate away; he kept the cap of prevention fastened tight across a few of them so that he and his bondmates could ask questions. When he examined the shattered joints and sagging windows of the house, he had to reluctantly agree. They were powerful, but they could only use magic inherent in the bond or knowledge inherent in their own minds. None of them were architects, and therefore none of them had the proper knowledge in how to fix the house.  
  
 _We’ll make them do it_ , Severus said and Draco echoed, the echoes chasing each other until Draco was once more unaware of which mind they originated in. It didn’t matter. Joined like this, the resources of all their three minds were open to each other.  
  
The phoenix turned and fluttered back to the three attackers they’d kept from Apparating. At least, that was how they would see it, a giant flaming bird coming after them. What Draco saw and felt was more the glimmering, shifting matrix of energies, the play back and forth of magic that did exactly as it was told to. Not only had he never wielded this much magic, he had never felt it so obedient. Usually, it seemed his magic or the potions he worked with was watching for the break in the spell or the recipe that would allow it to explode.  
  
Two murmurs marched alongside his, and he realized that he was hearing Severus and Harry thinking about the same thing. He smiled—though Merlin alone knew what the attackers would see in the way of a smile from the giant bird that confronted them—and settled down on the street in front of their collection, tilting his head back and forth.  
  
One of the men squeaked and fainted. That left one man and one woman. Draco cocked his head, then reached out with one claw—so they would see it—commanding a spell to blow away the dark cloaks that encircled them. The cloaks whipped off at once, though the wizards tried to cling to them, and revealed the brilliant robes of Aurors.  
  
Draco hiss-shrieked, combining three separate tones of displeasure. The woman stood up to it, but the man fell to his knees, hands over his ears. Draco and his bondmates therefore chose to question the woman first.  
  
“Who sent you here?” Draco asked. Or the bird asked. Or all three of them asked together. Their perspectives were shifting at the moment, combining and then falling apart, and Draco knew how to ride the shifts instinctively, but that didn’t mean he automatically understood what the shifts _meant_. He thought that Harry might want to break away from the blending of their minds and come out to talk to the Aurors separately, but the next moment that desire had faded and Severus was contemplating what Dark spells could force their persecutors to tell the truth in the absence of Veritaserum.  
  
“I—I don’t—” The woman swallowed. Then she stood up and stared into the bird’s eyes. She was courageous, whatever else she was, Harry’s admiration for courage said, thrumming through Draco. Draco snapped that he would have preferred bravery from someone who wasn’t trying to kill them, and Severus agreed and channeled their attention back to the woman’s words. “I don’t owe you the truth,” the woman said. “But, on the other hand, they didn’t tell us everything, either. They didn’t tell us that you could do this.” She folded her arms. “That counts as a betrayal in my book.”  
  
“The name,” Draco said, with a concentrated weight of deadliness in the voice that he knew originated with Severus.  
  
The woman nodded once. “Frederic Dominus.”  
  
Harry knew him, and grieved. He was one of Shacklebolt’s closest advisers, probably the third most important person in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Draco had never heard of him, but Severus snapped that that was only more proof of his effectiveness. The dangerous ones were the ones who never displayed themselves openly, as they had been forced to do.  
  
“And why?” Draco asked. He thought that was a more important question than the one Harry had, which was if Shacklebolt knew about this.  
  
“Because he thinks you a disruptive influence,” the woman said, and shrugged a little. “Disruptive to the Minister’s peace of mind, if nothing else. Also, people in the Ministry keep finding themselves restricted in certain decisions they want to make. They have to worry about what the Boy-Who-Lived would think of it, and then they remember that you aren’t under the control of the Ministry anymore and that you’re probably being influenced by Death Eaters.” Draco and Severus drifted on a distant ripple of amusement for a moment that the woman thought she was talking to Harry alone. Perhaps she assumed that the big, bad, evil Death Eaters would have killed her instead of talking to her. “There are certain laws they want to pass, certain actions they want to take, that just aren’t possible in this kind of world. They hoped that those actions would become possible if you died.”  
  
“What kinds of actions?” Now the hiss traveled around the woman’s head, making her hair blow back. Her face grew a touch paler, but she answered steadily.  
  
“Ones that will restrict the pure-bloods’ power and shift some positions of importance over to the Ministry’s allies.” She lifted her hand when Draco opened his beak again. “That’s all I know. I’m a very new Auror, and they wouldn’t tell me any more than that.” She looked around at her comrades for a moment, and then added, “And they’ll probably sack me for telling you as much as I have.”  
  
“How much did Shacklebolt have to do with this?” The question welled out of Draco’s beak before he could stop it.  
  
“Not much, I don’t think.” The woman shrugged again, a bitter smile on her face. “But as I told you, I’m new, and I don’t know a lot. Maybe he’s the secret mastermind behind all of this. But I don’t think so.” She paused seriously for a moment, then hurried on when Draco hissed again. “I think that his allies want him free to act, so they’re trying to do certain things that he won’t find out about and doesn’t have to be associated with in order to destroy the greatest obstacle.”  
  
“Do you know what Griselda Huxley has on him that prevents him from acting?” That was Harry’s question, too. Draco and Severus snapped at him with sharp beaks. Harry ignored them, because he thought this was perhaps their one chance to find out.  
  
The woman gave them a perfectly blank stare, which Severus judged was genuine. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve heard of Huxley as a hero during the war and the woman who attacked you with the Gut Chewing Curse, but no more than that.”  
  
Draco pushed Harry gently into a corner of their shared mind with the advice to think about something else, and then said, “And were you actually supposed to cause our deaths, or simply the destruction of our home?” Harry asked why _that_ distinction mattered, and Draco replied haughtily that they probably weren’t going to learn it elsewhere. Harry subsided into grumbling irrelevance.  
  
“Our instructions were to collapse the house.” The woman wrung her hair out as if she had noticed the dust among the strands and wanted to get rid of it. “It was assumed your deaths would follow that.”  
  
 _And they might have_ , Severus said, his voice slightly separating from the rest of them again as the need for their power diminished, _if we had not noticed what was happening immediately and if Harry had not opened the bonds._  
  
“Your name,” Draco said, with a snap close to the ear of the Auror, in case she was getting overconfident and thinking that she might depend on their good will.  
  
“Georgianna Murphy.” The woman’s chin rose stubbornly. “You can tell anyone you like that you talked to me. I’m going to find a different career than the Aurors. I want one where I’m not sent on assassinations.”  
  
“A good idea,” Draco said with Harry’s impetus, and then turned and dived for the house again. He had thought about leaving a final warning for the woman, but Severus hardly saw the need. If she did not understand the implied threat in what they could do by now, she was less intelligent than she had seemed, and Severus had hardly ever failed when judging other people’s intelligence.  
  
They _did_ flick out some of their magic to build a new set of wards and repair some of the gaps in the old ones as they went by. It was not fine work; basically, they surrounded the house with a shield of pure magic instead of the densely woven net of specific spells that they had relied on before. But it would do to shield the house from attack while they decided on what to do next, and that was enough.  
  
Something else had been enough, too. The moment they were settled back in the house, Harry shut the bonds. Draco dropped to his knees on the tilted kitchen floor, gasping, suddenly back in his body and only two-thirds of a complete being. It was tormenting and infuriating, when he no longer had access to the power and emotions that had hovered easily within his gap for the last fifteen minutes.  
  
 _We must talk to him_ , Severus said.  
  
Draco stood up and sent a pulse of agreement back along the bond. _And decide what to do about the house_ , he added, as he looked at shattered countertops, the fallen table, and the door hanging out of its hinges.  
  
*  
  
Harry knelt on the floor of his bedroom, eyes closed and hands folded around his head. He heard Ron and Hermione rustling around him. Without opening his eyes or lifting his head—he didn’t think he could do either at the moment without feeling incomplete, and he _hated_ feeling that way—he rasped, “Are you all right?”  
  
“We’re fine, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “Not injured. I would be more worried about you, actually. Your arms started glowing blue, and then you closed your eyes and your body slumped sideways as though you’d gone out of it. What happened?’  
  
“I opened the bonds and joined together with my bondmates to protect our home.” Harry approved of the terse blankness in his voice. If he could sound like that whenever he spoke of it, then maybe he stood a chance of not losing himself to the overwhelming nature of the bonds.  
  
“But—” Ron said.  
  
“Not now,” Hermione whispered. Harry almost smiled. She had understood the reason behind his lack of emotion in the words without his having to explain. Hermione was a good friend.  
  
 _And Severus and Draco are good bondmates._  
  
Harry shuddered a little and slowly sat back on his heels, his head still buried in his arms. He wasn’t sure what he would see if he looked at his friends, and that made him all the more reluctant to look at them. He was still involved in his colloquy with himself, and wishing he could deal with all these emotions: wonder, awe, pride that Draco had proved himself such a good leader of the three of them in the bond, hunger to taste that mixing of emotions and power again, and fear.  
  
 _The point isn’t whether they’re good bondmates or not_ , Harry told himself. _Of course they are, or we never would have survived a month together. But—will they be able to understand why I don’t want this and want this at the same time? I don’t know if they will._  
  
Someone knocked on his bedroom door. Harry started before he understood that of course it would be Severus and Draco. Some part of him, already used to the open bonds, was sure that he should have felt them coming.  
  
He gingerly picked his way across the room to open the door. The windows were out of their frames, and there was a jagged crack in the middle of the floor that made him wince at every creak his feet caused. He waved his wand and murmured a reinforcing spell that he had heard Ledbetter use on the training room when their flying spells were likely to damage it. That at least strengthened the beams holding the floor up and stopped the creaks.  
  
When he opened the door, he saw that the corridor was filled with drifting dust and smoke and that the floor buckled and rippled towards the stairs. He shook his head, not quite meeting Draco’s or Severus’s eyes. “That Earthquake Tunnel spell did quite a bit of damage,” he murmured.  
  
“That’s one of the things we have to talk about,” Draco announced, marching past Harry into his room. Harry turned and watched his back surreptitiously. It was hard to think that the boy who spent so much time arguing with him and the confident war-leader who had manipulated the threads of their bonds as though he’d been doing it all his life were the same person.  
  
 _I heard that_ , Draco said, whipping around to glare at him. _And if you would open the bonds fully, then maybe you would understand me better and not think that you’re just reconciling opposites when you look at me._  
  
Harry folded his arms and lifted his chin. _I don’t like the person I become when the bonds are fully open_ , he answered. _I lose the proper sense of myself, and my boundaries open, and I’m drifting in the middle of an ocean of the three of us. What happens if I can’t find my way back to my own body and shut the bonds down again?  
  
That would not happen_. Severus’s voice was coolly slashing, incisive. Harry turned around and saw him standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his head slightly ducked to avoid a hanging piece of the frame. His eyes never moved from Harry’s face, so hungry that Harry shifted uneasily from foot to foot. He was not sure that he liked someone looking at him that way. He was not sure that he _deserved_ to be looked at that way, when he was denying his bondmates what he knew they wanted. _You will always be both yourself and the wider person you become when you are in conjunction with us. You can retreat to your body if you want. You are the one of us who has the most control over the situation, since you can open and shut the bonds at will, and Draco and I can only try to muffle them or not pay attention to what they are telling us._  
  
Harry licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder. Ron and Hermione stood in the middle of his room still, Hermione with an expectant expression on her face, Ron with a scowl. He obviously knew something was going on, and just as obviously, he disliked being shut out of it.  
  
“Ron, Hermione,” he said quietly. “Can I talk to you about this later? I promise that I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s just that, right now…” He shook his head and extended one empty hand to show how helpless he felt to do with this when everyone was just standing there, staring at him, and waiting for an answer.  
  
“Yes, Harry,” Hermione said. “As long as we do talk about it, I don’t care when we do it.” She yanked on Ron’s arm. “Come on, Ron.”  
  
Ron resisted the pull, and looked from Draco to Severus as if he couldn’t decide who he distrusted more. “You better not _do_ anything to him,” he growled to Draco, and then tossed his head at Harry. “Or you, either.” He looked at Severus meaningfully and fingered his wand.  
  
Harry wanted to laugh and hug Ron at the same time, because he remembered how frightened Ron had been of Professor Snape in school. “It’s all right,” he said. “Really. There are just—some things that have to be settled.” He cocked his head at the door, and this time Hermione towed Ron through it before he could protest. Ron did still look over his shoulder and sweep a long, intimidating glare over Harry’s bondmates that he had probably learned in Auror training. It was plenty intimidating, even if Harry had to bite his lip so that he wouldn’t start laughing from sheer nervousness.  
  
Harry waited until he heard Ron and Hermione leave the house before he faced his bondmates again and set his hands on his hips. “I’m willing to open the bonds again,” he said. He hated the way his voice cracked, but he suspected that he would have to put up with that. “If you can reassure me that I won’t get destroyed by them, and that I can find my way back to my body whenever I want.”  
  
*  
  
Severus could feel Draco’s hunger, turning the bond between them into a brewing potion that steamed with greed and longing. He hoped that he had a more dignified expression on his face, but he was not certain of that, because he also wanted what Harry was offering.  
  
With the bonds fully open, he had felt, for the first time in his life, as if he truly _belonged_.  
  
But someone had to reassure Harry that he would not be hurt by offering that belonging again, or it would not happen. Therefore, Severus folded his arms and asked, “What is it that bothers you most about this, Harry? The sharing of emotions? The sharing of magic? We have done both through the bond so far, if to a lesser extent than the full opening of the bonds implies, The sensation of leaving your body? I assure you that the bond will take steps to guard the physical vessels of those who participate in it. It knows that we would not have a way to survive otherwise.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “None of that.” He paced back and forth on the creaking floor, casting it a few nervous glances. Severus sent a thought reassuring him that he had already cast reinforcement spells below, and Harry gave him a small smile. “I think it frightens me to be so much larger than I used to be,” he said at last. “I don’t know what to do with all the power and all that sense of _space_. I feel as if I could do everything. I don’t like the feeling.”  
  
“Severus and I would have something to say about you using our power,” Draco said promptly.  
  
Harry gave Draco a brilliant smile that caused Severus to twitch a bit. Only the memory of the fight Harry and Draco had had the other day kept him in his position by the door. “I didn’t know you were such a natural leader,” he said. “Thanks for doing that.”  
  
Draco’s nostrils flared, and his eyes widened. The next moment, he was trying to behave as if he had anticipated the compliment, but the bond between him and Severus thrummed like a plucked harpstring. “I’m not a natural leader,” he said. “I was impatient to resolve the situation so that we could act against the Aurors, and neither you nor Severus was doing anything that would resolve it.”  
  
“If I don’t get to put my talents and accomplishments down,” Harry said, “then neither do you.”  
  
Draco ducked his head, a bright flush coloring his cheeks.  
  
“Working off that principle,” said Severus, glad for Draco’s sake, but determined to steer the conversation back to its origin, “you should not assume that you would immediately do something regrettable with the power you assume when the bonds open, Harry. Draco is right. We would serve as a brake on you.”  
  
“Would you?” Harry cast him a haunted glance. “Because I felt invincible today, and I also felt us agreeing on the right thing to do more often than not.”  
  
“You forget about the spats that appeared and were quickly settled.” Severus shrugged, watching carefully for the shades of expression on Harry’s face and the way they matched the shifts in the bond. “It is true that they did not seem to matter because we could communicate with each other so quickly and openly, and because some of the time one of us went ahead and acted while the others were arguing. But they were there. You need not be afraid of us agreeing too much, Harry.”  
  
Something, perhaps the twist of his words, made Harry look at him, and with more earnest attention than usual. Severus tried to look as sincere as he could, and radiate sincerity through the bond in case Harry thought to open it.  
  
Harry’s smile, when it came, was a shy thing, but brilliant. Severus felt it touch him as though it were a flame that he could warm his hands beside.  
  
“Right,” Harry agreed, tasting the word for a long moment before he expelled it from his mouth. “I don’t think there are three people in the world less likely to agree easily.”  
  
“Exactly,” said Draco, who seemed confident enough to rejoin the conversation. He had spent long moments glancing from Harry to Severus as though he expected the bonds to be opened immediately, and now, from the ripple that Severus was receiving from him, he had decided that that wouldn’t happen unless he made it happen. “Our differences make us stronger. You’re never going to agree with Severus and me that sometimes principles should be sacrificed. We’ll never agree with you that so much compassion and kindness should be extended to our enemies. You and Severus will never agree with me on some of the luxuries that I grew up with and you didn’t.” Severus blinked; that was a commonality between him and Harry that had not occurred to him. “And Harry and I will never agree with _you_ ,” Draco said, turning to face Severus, “on the best way of teaching other people things.”   
  
Severus inclined his head half an inch. “I am reluctant to agree with commonplaces,” he said. “But it does seem as though the debates we are likely to have will strengthen us in the end, instead of splitting us apart.”  
  
Harry edged closer to them, his bright gaze darting from one of their faces to the other. Severus held still and made his expression as welcoming as possible, and was proud to see that Draco had the sense to do the same.  
  
Harry took a shivery breath and extended his hands. Severus clasped one. Draco clasped the other. Severus, with his gaze divided between Harry’s face and his body, saw a faint flare of white light from the phoenixes on his arms.   
  
Harry leaned up to kiss first Severus, then Draco. His eyes were wide now, and the bond vibrated and shimmered with so many emotions that Severus found it hard to concentrate on them.   
  
“I wanted to do it,” Harry whispered. “I’ve wanted to do it for a week now. But I had to have some reassurance that it really wouldn’t drown me, and I would manage to be both myself _and_ your bondmate, without having to sacrifice one of those or the other.” He shut his eyes. “Now I have that reassurance, and I’ve seen how magnificent it can be when we maintain it for more than a few seconds. And now I think I’m ready.”  
  
Severus squeezed the hand he held without looking away from Harry. His grasp was almost nerveless. This was the best he had ever felt, as if he were standing on a cliff about to plunge into a sea of pure joy.  
  
Harry opened the bonds.  
  
Severus swallowed light, and expanded past his boundaries to flow and mingle with his bondmates. This time, it was not a drowning or a blending as it had been in battle; the situation was less urgent, and no one needed to seize control as Draco had.  
  
 _And now_ , Harry said, the words coming so easily to Severus that he did not know if they had been spoken aloud or thought—it could have been both— _to decide what to do about Kingsley and the Aurors._


	25. Chapter 25

  
Harry waited quietly outside the Ministry, his arms folded and his head bowed so that he could keep his slightly glamoured face out of the sight of anyone watching him. Severus had cast the glamour, which he knew more about than Harry did, but he had warned Harry that Aurors often watched for the telltale ripple around the cheeks and chin that would signal an illusion.  
  
 _Ready_? he asked Severus.  
  
 _I would have told you if I was_. Severus had used one of the toilet entrances that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had used to get into the Ministry during the war, and the bond steamed with his disgust at the frivolity of it. Right now, by concentrating, Harry could get flashes of sensations as he brushed off his robes and strode forwards under his own impeccable Polyjuice Potion, brewed from the hair of a Ministry employee they’d caught and subdued. _You will know when the moment comes._  
  
Harry flickered his attention to the left. _And you’re almost ready, Draco?  
  
Malfoys are always perfectly prepared_. Harry wrinkled his nose at the stench of sour self-importance he was getting, but he could excuse it by telling himself that Draco was simply trying to get into his role. Draco wore his own face, and a pair of grey robes that were so perfectly pressed Harry thought the creases could probably cut. His hair was slicked back with some foul-smelling mixture that he had used before they left the house. Draco had explained that it was important to try and look the part of an accomplished politician before pretending to be one. Harry thought Draco took the part up with rather too much relish, considering that he would speak multiple lies to the Aurors today.  
  
 _I heard that._  
  
Harry flickered out a whip of apology, and then felt Severus’s murmured acknowledgment that he was in position. He knew Draco felt it as well, so he didn’t comment on that, simply saying to Draco, _Good luck._  
  
Draco stepped forwards to the fireplace in their home, which they had opened the Floo connection on for once. Their strengthening and reinforcing spells had done a better job of repairing the house than Severus had thought was possible, or Harry never would have consented to leave Draco alone there. With a murmur, he cast Floo powder into the flames and named the private hearth of a Malfoy ally in the Ministry that his father had told him about. Since Lucius had never told that ally he knew about the Floo connection, Draco had every reason to think that private address would still function.  
  
 _Good luck_ , Harry told him again.  
  
There was a fleeting sensation like a kiss on his cheek before Draco cast himself fully into his role. Harry shifted his position slightly and kept his eyes fastened on the phonebox that led into the Ministry’s front entrance, waiting.  
  
*  
  
Draco stepped out into an office paneled with expensive wood and possessing an expensive enchanted window directly across from the fireplace. It had to be expensive, because the sky was pure gold and filled with cavorting dragons that looked nothing like real ones. Most of the time, enchanted windows were based on real places; it took extra effort to pay an artist and an illusionist to collaborate on an imaginary vision.  
  
His father’s ally, Hector Pethslew, scrambled to his feet at the sight of Draco, his mouth open. “M-Malfoy!” he stammered.  
  
“I’m glad that you still recognize someone to whom you owe obligations.” Draco glanced around the office, ignoring the jumping impatience from Harry’s side of the bond, and curled his lip. It was something he would have done anyway, as part of the act, but in this case it took no effort. There was gold everywhere, which not only didn’t go well with the pale wood of the office but disfigured some truly beautiful antique cabinets and chairs. “Your doing, I suppose, Hector,” he drawled, turning back to Pethslew and doing his best to imitate his father’s aloof look. “You always _did_ have the worst way of gilding the lily.”  
  
Pethslew stared at the floor, his cheeks turning so red that Draco had to restrain a vicious chuckle. He could feel Harry in his mind immediately, extending sticky fingers to probe into Draco’s business. _Are you sure that angering him is the best way to go about this?_  
  
Draco shook his head slightly to get the sticky feeling to recede, and then began to pace in a circle around his hapless ally. _You don’t understand. Pethslew won’t get angry. He’s always been in thrall to my father as far as advice on power and fashion goes. He thinks that we know best because we have more money than he does. And most of the time, that’s correct_ , Draco finished, with another glance around and shudder at the over-embellished room.  
  
 _It’s strange to hear you use “we” when you’re talking about Malfoys instead of about you and Severus and me._  
  
Before Draco could respond, Pethslew looked up and whispered, “Thank you, sir. I won’t forget again. What do you need me to do for you?”  
  
“Well,” Draco said, letting his eyelids droop as though he were thinking deeply, “I came to you in secret. I need a meeting with the Minister in private.” He leaned back against the wall and watched in satisfaction as Pethslew’s eyes widened.  
  
“But—but there’s no way to do that!” Pethslew whispered.  
  
“Oh, really?” Draco rubbed his nails against his robes and sighed, turning towards the fireplace. “Then I reckon that I’ll simply have to call on another of our numerous allies within the Ministry, and offer that person invitations to the next party that my mother hosts—”  
  
“Wait, wait!” Pethslew churned after him, flapping his hands. “I didn’t—I mean, there might be a way, after all!” He got between Draco and the fireplace and gave him a sickly smile. “There is a way into the Minister’s office that not everyone knows about and which will keep us out of the sight of the Aurors.”  
  
Draco raised his eyebrows. “Sometimes, Hector, you are smarter than you look,” he murmured.  
  
The man beamed as if at a compliment. Severus snorted and sent an image of Neville Longbottom being praised for a potion down the bond to Draco. Harry was silent in disgust. Severus chuckled about that, too, and Harry lashed back at him. Draco ignored them both as best he could to concentrate on Pethslew as he stepped across to the wall of his office and examined a calendar there. Draco knew it would be a calendar of the last time he had asked for favors from certain people. There were those in the Ministry who were happy to help out people like Pethslew in return for money or other considerations, but they must not be asked too often, lest they get irritated or risk losing their comfortable positions.  
  
“Yes, I can ask Kate,” Pethslew declared after a moment of staring at the wall. He turned back around and gave Draco a hopeful look. “It will take about five minutes to contact her and ask her if we can go through her office, sir. Is that all right?”  
  
“Five minutes is…acceptable.” Draco drew out a watch he had deliberately carried along and looked at it, making Pethslew scurry.  
  
 _I had no idea you were so good at this_ , Harry muttered in the back of his head. _You never displayed any talents like this in school.  
  
I was dealing with people there who had the inclination to treat me like just another student_ , Draco said, stung to honesty. _Here, I’m dealing with people who respect my family. I do better when I have someone offering me a bit of what I want, so that I can build on it._   
  
Harry fell unnervingly silent at that point, and floated slightly apart from the bond so that he could think about things. They had already discovered that the bonds were flexible even when fully opened; they didn’t have to share every thought with each other any more than they had when they were shut from Harry’s side, and they could come “closer” or go “farther” away so that their emotions would show up in the others’ minds with more or less clarity.  
  
Draco shook his head. Let Harry think what he liked of Draco. Draco knew that this was the sort of acting he had been born to do, and he could do it better than anyone else. Severus could intimidate more people, but he did not have the inner grace and elegance that was necessary to carry off a deception like this.  
  
 _Let me remind you that we are here so that you may establish a foothold in the Minister’s office, not enhance the Malfoy reputation_ , Severus snapped, the bond alive with thrashing crocodiles.   
  
_Let me remind you that I’m no longer your student to scold_ , Draco said, and offered Pethslew a thin smile as he glanced over his shoulder from the memo he was writing. Pethslew gave him a nervous one back and began to scribble again. _I am your equal, your lover, and your co-conspirator._  
  
Severus grunted. Draco ignored the temptation to worry about what that meant. Severus was never at his best when he was caught off-guard, the way that Draco and Harry had continually been doing to him since they discovered what their bond was fully capable of.  
  
The memo fluttered off, and Pethslew came back to him, rubbing his hands together and bowing. “Could you give me a few tips on improving my office, sir?” he whispered. “I know that I’ve overdone the gold, but I’m never sure how much I _should_ use.”  
  
Draco condescended to look around at the furniture one more time. “Strip off all but the gold from the handles on that chest,” he decided at last, pointing at a trunk that had a few scratches in the wood of the lid and needed the gold to distract the viewer’s eye from them. “Anything else can stand on its own.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
Draco stared over Pethslew’s head, because even he found this kind of fawning excessive, and said, “And your Kate will soon be here?”  
  
“No,” Pethslew said, glancing over his shoulder nervously as he started to remove his wand and strip the gold from his furniture, “but she’ll send us permission to come through to her office if she can. She has a private Floo put in. That’ll move us much closer to the Minister’s office, and from there it’s just a matter of watching the Aurors on guard duty and their schedules.”  
  
Draco hid a vicious chuckle. Pethslew, and people like him, never seemed to realize that the secrets they held could have been used to much more dangerous, and lucrative, effect. Presumably, it was for the best that the things they wanted were small and petty: praise, beauty, money.  
  
 _Praise isn’t petty_ , Harry said, drifting back towards Draco and muffling his mental voice so that Severus couldn’t hear him. _I told you about offering compliments to Severus and how much he wanted them. Have you done that?_  
  
Draco stiffened and shut the conversation in the part of his mind that was most distant from Severus. No, he hadn’t done that, but he didn’t appreciate Harry reminding him of his inadequacies at the very moment when he needed to feel most strong and confident.  
  
 _I don’t mean to make you feel inadequate_ , Harry snapped, his words edged with thorns. _Believe it or not, my purpose in bringing that up is to do some good to Severus, instead of trying to hurt you._  
  
Draco didn’t have the chance to respond. A memo swooped back into Pethslew’s office, and he caught and read it anxiously. A moment later, he looked up at Draco with a relieved smile. “Kate says we can use her Floo,” he announced.  
  
“Good.” Draco fastened the perfect expression of bored indifference on his face and moved forwards, tossing a bag of Galleons onto Pethslew’s desk as he went. “A small something for your assistance,” he added, when Pethslew gave him a questioning glance.  
  
Then he had to put up with more bowing and babbling, of course. But it was worth it so that he could avoid thinking about what Harry had just said.  
  
The bonds were open, but that didn’t mean that they were ready for absolute honesty. And, Draco thought, he could see many reasons for not exercising it.  
  
*  
  
“Good morning, Mrs. Goodwin!”  
  
Severus had chosen the guise of a woman who hobbled in alone to work every morning and seemed to spend most of her time working on paperwork in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. He had assumed that meant she was unpopular.  
  
Of course, relying on common sense meant that she was apparently everyone’s favorite aunty, and numerous people stopped to say hello to him as he hobbled along the way to Goodwin’s office, leaning on a cane.  
  
Luckily, Severus had thought up a simple, plausible excuse to ensure that he didn’t have to speak to all these people and possibly get the tone wrong; he would certainly get names wrong. He shook his head at each greeting, adopted a doleful expression, and touched Goodwin’s throat, mouthing the words, _I’ve lost my voice_.  
  
The offers of sympathy, pats on the back, and lozenges, and promises to run around that evening and bring him any number of good dinners and healing spells were still extreme, but not nearly as annoying as dealing with extraneous conversations would have been. Soon enough Severus was ensconced in Goodwin’s office, and he had firmly shut the door on the last offer of help, mouthing in an exaggerated fashion that he thought sitting alone in a small, dark room would be the best for him.  
  
Accordingly, he left the lights off and lit his wand alone. Then he closed his eyes and whispered the spell that he had studied in extensive detail over the last few days, as Harry, Draco, and he planned the best way to reach the Minister and convince him to leave them alone, as well as find out what he knew.   
  
Severus had chosen Goodwin because, as he had been able to learn with some gentle Legilimency on Weasley combined with his own knowledge of the Ministry, her office was directly beneath Shacklebolt’s. Now it was time to take the step that would help bring all three of them, spectacularly, into private conference with the Minister.   
  
“ _Fero nos_.”  
  
Bright tendrils of light snaked away from his wand, blue and purple, but changing to yellow and green as they sprang upwards. Severus could have done this from a distance, as well, but the power needed to create the spell was already making drops of sweat spring out on his cheeks and nose, even given the magic he could share with Harry and Draco. It was easier to shorten the distance and make the route as direct as possible, hence the office beneath the Minister’s.  
  
 _Are you all right_? Harry’s voice was soft and anxious in his ears, thrumming through the bones of his skull.  
  
Severus grunted acknowledgment and went on drawing magic. He didn’t have the strength to answer right now. He hoped Harry would understand and respect that, rather than growing offended.   
  
The sense of Harry’s presence didn’t draw further away, so Severus decided that he was waiting, ready to offer help if it was needed. That increased both Severus’s comfort and his determination to succeed on his own. He had brewed potions while dying Muggles lay not far away. If he could not cast a spell that was simple in comparison and in an environment that gave him no distractions, then he was not worthy of the name of wizard.  
  
The light above his wand was spitting and struggling now; Severus felt, though he could not see it, that the ends of the tendrils were encountering magical barriers around the Minister’s office. He bared his teeth and drew on yet more magic from the bonds.  
  
 _Take it_ , Harry urged him softly, doing something to the bond so that even more power rolled smoothly away from him and down the links that bound him to Severus. Severus could sense Harry’s patient delight in helping like this; the image that came to him was of a horse bowing its head and shoulders to drag an enormous load up a cliff, never mind the strain on its muscles. _Take all you need. I’m asking you to do the hardest thing.  
  
Only because the Minister likely has wards tuned to your magical signature_ , Severus retorted.  
  
 _If Draco and I shouldn’t put ourselves down and diminish our own capacities, then neither should you_ , Harry said, his anger closing a pair of iron jaws on Severus’s hand.   
  
_Attend to what you are doing_ , Severus snapped back.  
  
 _Because standing around outside the Ministry under a glamour requires a tenth of the concentration and effort that you’re using?_  
  
One more magical barrier, and this time the spell lashed and quivered, sending a sympathetic tension down Severus’s arms. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stop speaking to Harry so that he could reach through the defensive wards. The whole point of this spell was that it would allow them to move around safely inside the Ministry, even once their enemies were aware of them, despite the anti-Apparition defenses. Compared to the ancient integrity of those defenses, which Severus had not even wished to attempt breaching, a few personal wards were nothing.  
  
He could do this. He was strong.  
  
Harry was silent, but he handed Severus a memory suddenly: Severus coping with Neville Longbottom in his Potions class after yet another melted cauldron. He had used harsh words, but he had not lashed out with magic or hands the way he so sorely wanted to. He could control himself. He was coiled strength. Harry had always known it, and he reinforced Severus’s efforts to convince himself with his own conviction, as steady as any boulder.  
  
The spell pierced the Minister’s last barrier. They were through.  
  
Severus gasped and sagged back against Goodwin’s desk. Harry immediately surrounded him with wordless sympathy and thanks, which felt rather like a cat rubbing its warm head against Severus’s hands. For a long moment, Severus allowed himself to enjoy that, as well as Draco’s belated congratulations. Late though he had come to the bond, Harry seemed more skilled at balancing the outer and inner occurrences he was experiencing, while Draco often needed to concentrate most fully on what was happening outside his head.  
  
Severus recovered himself quickly enough and listened through the bonds. Draco was in position, in an office close to Shacklebolt’s. At the moment, he was timing the rounds of the Aurors who were assigned to keep guard in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement itself. When he was ready, he would move to Shacklebolt and request a private interview. If necessary, Harry and Severus would lend him the strength to crush anyone who objected.  
  
Severus then turned his head and listened with his physical ears, but he could detect no one coming nearer to Goodwin’s office. He nodded sharply. With any luck, his pretense of sickness and the earliness of the hour would keep everyone away from their favorite aunty for a minute or two yet.  
  
 _Your turn_ , he told Harry.  
  
*  
  
Harry spent only a single moment shivering. He was not sure that he had the strength to cast this spell. Part of him thought that Draco or Severus should have been chosen to do it.   
  
But Draco was needed to infiltrate the Ministry using his Malfoy contacts, and Severus had been the one who most easily mastered the sheer effort involved in the Bearing Spell. That left only one role open to Harry.  
  
 _There was a young man not long ago_ , Severus’s thoughtful voice murmured into Harry’s mind, _who had something to say about deprecating one’s own abilities._  
  
Harry smiled shakily. The dry tone Severus had used was the right one to distract him from his stupid thoughts and make him concentrate on what was important. He stood up straighter. He knew the spell’s incantation, and he knew he would have the reserves of magical strength from the bond to draw upon if he needed it. Draco had barely used his magic yet.  
  
Harry drew out a square of parchment from his robe pockets and unfolded it slowly. Luckily, there should be no one who thought it unusual for someone near the Ministry to be frowning intensely at a piece of paper. Harry held it there for some time, letting his fingers learn the feel of every crease and his eyes the sharp shape of every letter, even though he knew perfectly well what was written there.  
  
 _Frederic Dominus._  
  
That was another reason he was here, he reminded himself. Of the three of them in the bond, he was the only one who knew who Dominus was and had seen him, and therefore the one best-suited to creating the spell that should, hopefully, compel their enemy to confess.  
  
This was not Dark magic, he thought as he raised a hand. Severus, at least, would not permit it to be called so. It was _old_ magic, magic that relied more on the idea of sympathy between a person and a representation of that person than on the idea of imposing one’s will through an incantation. It was the same sort of magic that drove the Polyjuice Potion, in fact, where one hair could stand for the whole of someone else’s body.  
  
“ _Veritas, Frederic Dominus_ ,” Harry breathed, pouring all his concentration in three directions—into the paper he held, into the letters he saw, into the words he spoke. Uniting at least three of the five senses was imperative for magic like this. “ _Malo veritatem_.”  
  
The magic, when it stirred in him, thrilled and disturbed him at once. It was like a rush of knives along his veins. Then it curled out of him, and the paper burst into clear, soundless flames. Harry tensed instinctively, but the fire didn’t burn him, the way Severus had said it wouldn’t.   
  
He watched as the fire died. When it faded, he was holding a soft white powder that sparkled when he poured it from one hand to the other.  
  
And it had been less hard than he had thought it would be.  
  
Harry opened his eyes, concentrating on the weight of the powder in his hand, and waved his wand carefully above it, to create a small silvery dome that would contain it and keep it from blowing away. Then he turned towards the Ministry and let his shoulders fall in relief as he sent an acknowledgment of his position through the bond to Draco and Severus.  
  
 _I am ready._  
  
*  
  
 _And so am I_ , Draco thought, as he lifted his hand and knocked on Minister Shacklebolt’s door.   
  
It hadn’t been hard after all to time the Auror guards’ schedules. If and when Colben was elected Minister, Draco thought he would have a word with her about not relying on her predecessor’s security procedures.   
  
A weighty pause came from behind the door, as if to say that anyone should know better than to interrupt Shacklebolt the Confused. Draco settled his shoulders and waited.  
  
Finally, a heavy voice that Draco didn’t recognize—though Harry had heard it a time or two—said, “Come in.”  
  
Draco opened the door, flinching a little in expectation of tingling wards meeting his skin. Nothing happened. Severus’s spell had taken care of that.  
  
 _Of course it did_ , Harry and Severus said at the same time, as Draco stepped into the office.  
  
 _I apologize. Well done, Severus_ , Draco said, and, as he had hoped, the shock of the compliment shut them both up so that he could concentrate on what he was doing.  
  
Shacklebolt sat behind a large, dark desk that Draco appreciated at once; it was made of purest ebony. Something like that would look fine in their house, once they had made the final repairs and secured the ground against any further use of an Earthquake Tunnel. The Minister turned his head towards the door, his eyes so wide and weary that Draco felt a small twinge of sympathy. He pictured the way that Shacklebolt had kidnapped Harry, and his sympathy disappeared.  
  
Of course, a swirl of it remained in the back of his mind from Harry. Draco mentally rolled his eyes, and Harry responded with a wordless snarl.  
  
The man sitting across from Shacklebolt in a large chair was blond, that sort of dirty, sandy color on the edge of brown that made Draco feel insulted on behalf of all the real blond wizards out there. His jaw was lined with stubble, his brown eyes hard and wary. He started to stand when he saw Draco’s face.  
  
 _That’s Dominus_! Harry hissed.   
  
_No need to whisper, he can’t hear you_ , Draco said back smartly, and stepped up the timing of their plan. They had thought that he would need to coax and con Shacklebolt into summoning Dominus, dropping hints of what had happened but never the full truth until they had the man in front of them. Now that he was here, Draco saw no reason not to move immediately.  
  
“Minister,” he said, “I have words for you concerning the treatment that your Aurors subjected our home to, on Dominus’s command.” He bobbed his head at the standing man, who looked stunned by Draco’s recognition of him, and turned back to face Shacklebolt. He saw a sharp gleam in those weary eyes that hadn’t been there a moment before. “And the first two words are: _Fero nos_.”  
  
*  
  
Lightning crackled down through the ceiling, grabbed Severus’s wrists, and tugged him up and through.   
  
He barely caught a glimpse of more bolts racing away in search of Harry before the lightning turned his body into a transparent structure that it filled like a glass statue and he slid through walls and floors—and wards—as if he didn’t exist. Severus found himself catching his breath with a savage joy. He had known how the spell would work, of course, or he would not have cast it, but it was one thing to know that and another to find himself whirling through others’ defenses.  
  
He had barely begun to dream of all the destructive things that he might use this strength for when he landed in the Minister’s office.  
  
The next moment, Harry landed beside him. He might have fallen over, his arms windmilling the way they did when he tried to step through a Floo and keep his balance, but Severus placed a hand on the small of his back and steadied him. Harry promptly turned the bond between them molten with thanks as he stepped forwards and fixed a keen eye on Shacklebolt and Dominus.  
  
“Who are these people, Malfoy?” Shacklebolt asked, his voice taut.  
  
 _Of course_. Severus produced a small vial from his pocket and drank his specially-made antidote to the Polyjuice; he preferred not to wait for it to wear off. Harry passed his wand across his face and banished the glamour.  
  
While they were occupied with that, Dominus tried to launch a curse at them. Draco was the one who had thought of that and layered a thin barrier through the air around them, transparent but strong and flexible enough to bounce any spells back at the one who tried to use them. Dominus flinched and ducked as his curse sang past his ear and buried itself in the wall behind his left shoulder.  
  
Harry bathed Draco in tickling warmth, and Severus sent a wordless pulse of approval. Draco’s cheeks turned pink, but he fought for—and largely maintained—a haughty mask.  
  
Shacklebolt sat up and examined them more attentively. “You said you brought word of an attack,” he said to Draco. “But why should I believe you rather than Dominus? He has served me faithfully for years, and even now he tried only to protect me.”  
  
“I continue my faithful service.” Dominus straightened up, as ruffled as a chicken that someone had tried to step on. “Sir, these… _people_ are dangerous to you, and to your policies and your chance of guiding a united wizarding Britain. It is for the best if we simply dismiss them. But as they are too powerful to do that, permit me to arrest them.” His wand twitched in his hand as his mouth widened into a shark’s smile. “There is nothing I would like more.”  
  
“I’m certain you would, Dominus,” Harry drawled. His voice was so much like Severus’s that Severus suffered the sudden shock of recognition and knowledge that Harry had been watching him much more closely than he had imagined. “However, there is a small matter of an Earthquake Tunnel spell and the attack that you engineered on our home first. The attack that was supposed to kill us, I think, so that you could leave Shacklebolt free to act without my ‘restraining’ influence?”  
  
“I have no idea what you mean.” Dominus was a good liar, smooth and natural, his eyes widening in outrage that did not look false.  
  
Harry raised his left hand, which he had kept down near his side, and blew on the dome that covered his palm. It vanished at once, and the ash rose from his hand in a swirl and blew towards Dominus. He swatted at it, then tried to conjure a small wind that would dissipate it, but it simply twisted around his precautions in a spiral and ended up fastened all over his robes and skin in a glinting coat.  
  
For a moment, Severus thought that he heard Harry’s voice sighing, “ _Veritas_.” Then it was over, and Harry turned and bowed solemnly to Shacklebolt.   
  
“I used sympathetic magic to create a spell that would force him to tell the truth,” Harry said. “It doesn’t use anything Dark, simply his name written on a piece of paper. You can ask him about the attack now.”  
  
Shacklebolt stretched his hands in front of him, cracking the knuckles. He looked slow and thoughtful, as if he didn’t want to move too fast. Severus could understand the feeling. Things had changed so rapidly around the man in the last several months that it was a wonder he could act at all.  
  
 _I don’t think that’s the case_ , Draco objected. _I think he simply got paralyzed with indecision.  
  
That’s still understandable_ , Harry thought, and then he and Draco began to bicker quietly in the back of their heads. Severus, who was more interested in what Shacklebolt would decide than the childish arguments of his bondmates, focused on the man in front of him.  
  
Shacklebolt cocked his head meditatively. “And if you are lying,” he said, “either about the spell or about the attack, then Frederic should simply be able to tell me that he had nothing to do with it.” He turned to Dominus, whose face had begun to turn dangerously red. Severus watched his bouncing wand hand and drew his own wand to counter any curse that he might cast. “Well, Frederic? Is what they say true? Were you involved at all in the attack on their house?”  
  
Dominus flushed more, and Severus heard a faint grinding sound that was probably him trying to keep his teeth shut so that the truth wouldn’t burst past them. But in the end, it was no use, and Dominus bowed his head, his face bright with humiliation. “I chose to send Aurors to attack their house,” he said. “With an Earthquake Tunnel and Blinding Glamours, in the hopes that the collapse of the house would kill them and no one would find out the truth until too late.”  
  
Shacklebolt uttered a sigh that seemed to take most of the air in his body. Dominus tensed. Severus continued watching his wand hand. Harry and Draco were now arguing about whether Shacklebolt’s jealousy of Severus excused his actions or not.  
  
“I had wondered,” Shacklebolt murmured. “When certain servants of mine reported that there were late-night meetings that some of the Aurors attended, and most of them the youngest and newest Aurors, the most easily influenced…I wondered.” He passed a hand over his face and then fixed his eyes on Dominus again. “Why did you do this? You must know that I had acted against Potter and his bondmates numerous times and failed. What made you assume that you would be any more successful?”  
  
An invisible fishhook seemed to drag the answers out of Dominus’s throat while he struggled to retain them. At one point he actually put his hands on his neck and bore down as if he could stop the words, but of course that did nothing. Severus felt a moment’s smugness. Most people were astonished at the strength of spells that they hadn’t encountered before. “We saw that you were constrained by your fear of him, hesitating and wondering if you dared do this, or that, or this other thing, while you knew that he supported a different candidate for Minister. And we thought that you hadn’t been direct enough. We _want_ you as Minister, sir. Not Potter. Not someone Potter chose. He did his deed. That’s it. He’s done. Other people should guide the wizarding world now, people who understand it better.”  
  
By the end of that speech, Dominus was no longer struggling against his own words. In fact, he had leaned forwards, one beseeching hand extended, as though he believed he could convert Shacklebolt by sheer force of will.  
  
“Certain deeds don’t simply end.” Shacklebolt folded his hands on the desk in front of him. He looked, strangely, as if he were enjoying himself. Severus’s own astonishment bounced back into the bonds and focused Draco and Harry’s attention, so that they looked at Shacklebolt again. “Their influence continues rebounding down the years. Headmaster Dumbledore didn’t lose his influence a year after he defeated Grindelwald.”  
  
“Headmaster Dumbledore was an adult at the time,” Dominus said insistently, “with considerable political expertise and magical power. And he would never have compromised with Death Eaters.”  
  
Severus had to stifle the temptation to point out that there were no Death Eaters at that time. He doubted that that particular point of pedantry would be appreciated. He felt Draco reacting much the same way, while Harry stirred with some enormous secret that it seemed he wanted to tell, and then subsided. Listening to the edges of the secret, Severus thought it concerned Grindelwald and Dumbledore, but he was not sure that Harry could possibly know what it seemed he knew.  
  
“We deal the hand we are dealt,” Shacklebolt said simply. “And I am not pleased with the one that you tried to deal me, Frederic, making me indirectly responsible for murder.” He shook his head. “I already tried defiance and manipulation and simple kidnapping, and nothing that I did ever worked. So compromise is the only thing that will. Not murder.” He looked Dominus in the eye. “Even I drew the line there.”  
  
Dominus whirled, his wand coming into his hand. Severus found himself tensing with threefold the amount of his own nervousness, but he could not tell where the attack was aimed and so he could not tell what he must do to counteract it.  
  
*  
  
That was all right. Harry knew.  
  
Instincts, together with Ledbetter’s training, rushed into his head. Ledbetter had been in the Ministry longer than Dominus. He’d had the training of him, and the way Dominus whirled and flung out his right arm in a dramatic motion was a feint, meant to draw attention to his body and away from the spell he was about to fire.  
  
Harry watched the wand instead, and saw the way that Dominus pointed it straight at him and the way his lips moved in the Burning Joints Curse. The spell was nonverbal, but Ledbetter had also taught Harry that many wizards were unable to give up their habit of mouthing the words. Look at their mouths closely enough, and you could make out the incantation—at least enough to defend yourself intelligently.  
  
Harry dropped to his knees and cast a shimmering Shield Charm that spread out and covered himself, Draco, and Severus, in case he was wrong about the aim. A bit of the shield also spread towards Kingsley. Just for fun, and because he knew it would impress Kingsley, Harry drew on their shared reservoir of magic to change the color of the charm. It manifested as a turquoise glow in the air instead of a silver one, and the Burning Joints Curse bounced off it and vanished in a splash of black air.  
  
Harry rose back to his feet and nodded at Kingsley. “Your principles do you credit, Minister,” he said, the words bleeding into his head from Severus’s; they were the ones Severus would have liked to speak but was too shocked to say at the moment. “Your advisers, however, do not.”  
  
Kingsley had gone pale, too, but he stood up steadily enough, with a hand on the desk, and cast a Body-Bind on Dominus. He fell over with a crash. Kingsley cast another spell that Harry recognized as one that would muffle Dominus’s hearing, and then turned around. His voice was sharp and urgent.  
  
“Isn’t there any way we can reconcile?”  
  
Harry looked at him steadily for long moments, and as more of them passed, he could feel Severus and Draco stirring like snakes in the back of his head. They were worried that he _would_ offer a compromise to Kingsley, and they didn’t know how they would deal with it if he did. They were thinking about Colben, and what Ron and Hermione had discovered about her, and about the long process of getting the electoral campaign launched, and about Kingsley’s general lack of trustworthiness and how they could never believe him even if he gave his word.  
  
But Harry had known Kingsley better than either of them, and he looked into the man’s eyes and judged the sincerity he found there.  
  
“I may be able to trust that you won’t attack me again,” he said. “But that’s different from coming back to the Ministry or supporting you in your office.” He paused thoughtfully. There was the possibility that Kingsley could answer his questions about Colben, since surely his advisers would have done research on her when they announced her candidacy. At the very least, it would be interesting to see what he said. “Of course, we have a concern about Colben that you might be able to answer…”  
  
 _Harry_! Draco squawked in his head.  
  
 _We do not want him to know_! Severus screeched.  
  
 _You sound like parrots, both of you_ , Harry said, and left them to deal with that as Kingsley nodded eagerly.  
  
“What information I can give you on her, I will,” Kingsley promised.  
  
Harry almost smiled. He was sure that Kingsley would mention an embarrassing truth if he knew it. It was the most likely way—as he saw it—to convince Harry to adopt his side again.   
  
“We had heard that she was the daughter of a Muggleborn mother and a pure-blood father,” he said. “But we can’t find any records of their marriage. Also, it seems that least one Colben ancestor declared he would disinherit his children if any of them married Muggleborns. We wondered if Colben was telling the truth about her mother.”  
  
Kingsley’s mouth tightened for long moments, and his eyes narrowed. Harry watched him, and resisted the nudging in his mind from both Severus and Draco, who wanted him to do something unforgivable to Kingsley while he was distracted.  
  
 _Do you want his help or not_? Harry finally demanded in exasperation, when the nudging had grown intolerable and several seconds of Kingsley’s internal debate had passed.  
  
 _He’s going to decide against us_ , Draco said. _And we owe him punishment for all the things that he’s done in the past. At least you ought to ask him what hold Huxley has over him, so that he can really make us amends.  
  
Sometimes you have no sense of politics at end, which I don’t understand when you’re normally so brilliant_ , Harry told him with a swirl of disgust. _We can’t push too far or too fast. He’s the one making the gestures of reconciliation now, and I want to keep it that way. Threaten him with Huxley and he’ll think that we’re the ones who have something to apologize for._  
  
Severus’s nudging stopped, and he held himself aloof from the argument. Draco subsided with a grumble as Kingsley gave a small nod.  
  
“We discovered the same thing,” he said, “and thought we could hold it over her. Then we discovered that Colben’s parents were simply not married in this country. The record of their wedding is on file with the French Ministry.”  
  
Harry relaxed with a sigh, while Draco set off doubts like fireworks in the back of his mind and Severus’s cool, watching presence retreated a bit further. “Thank you, sir. We were worried about that.”  
  
Kingsley shook his head, a faint smile ringing his mouth. “It’s an obvious weakness. We would have found it and started crying it up during the first week if there was any chance that she wasn’t who she had said she was.” Then he shifted his feet and opened his mouth in a way that Harry knew wouldn’t produce anything he wanted to hear; the reporters looked the same way when they were about to make a request for an exclusive interview.   
  
Harry braced himself to endure it anyway. Kingsley had been far more reasonable than Harry had expected when confronted with treachery in his own ranks.  
  
“I must ask you,” Kingsley said, “if this is necessary. I have apologized, and I am willing to make an Unbreakable Vow that I will neither attack you nor allow anyone in the Ministry to attack you again.”  
  
 _The qualifier_! Draco said, and Harry had the mental image of a cat pouncing with its legs extended, claws gleaming on the ends of its paws.  
  
 _Yes, Draco, I heard that, thank you_ , Harry said dryly, and then he told Kingsley, “But you can’t guarantee that it won’t happen thanks to people outside of the Ministry. Or that the Ministry will respond when it does, considering the corruption among the Aurors and Huxley.”  
  
Kingsley stared at him. Then he bowed his head, eyes full of pain. “We might be political allies despite that,” he said. “I do not think that you can rely on Brynhildr Swanfair or Estella Colben to provide protection for you.”  
  
“Neither of them is powerful in the Ministry yet,” Harry answered. “They’re only one faction, not the power setting itself up as neutral in pursuit of laws and justice. If it turned out they couldn’t protect me after Colben became Minister, then I would turn on them as well. I don’t expect you to make sure I’m perfectly safe. I do expect you to punish those who show themselves willing to murder me and my bondmates when they expose those intentions.” He paused, then added, “Are you even going to fully punish the Aurors that Dominus tricked into following him?”  
  
“It would be unfair when they were tricked,” Kingsley whispered.  
  
Harry nodded. “And that is why I think it best to throw my lot in with those who might have more of a commitment to protecting me, if only because they owe their political strength to me. They might not be able to get rid of all the corrupt people, but at least they can shuffle them around into less dangerous positions.”  
  
“Do not trust Swanfair,” Kingsley said, his hand tightening on the edge of the desk. “She will turn on you if she can.”  
  
“I know, but thank you for the warning.” Harry gave him a small salute. “I wish you well, Kingsley. Just not well enough to give you more power over my life.” He nodded to him and then turned and walked out of the office with a feeling of profound relief. Draco invoked the _Fero nos_ spell when they were in the corridor, and they swooped back through the building to Harry’s original position outside the Ministry.   
  
“I’m glad that’s over,” Harry muttered, and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
“You were…impressive,” Draco whispered.  
  
Surprised, Harry turned and looked at him. Draco looked back at him with some nervousness, some defiance, and some true appreciation.  
  
And Harry wondered how difficult it must be for Draco, who had fewer acknowledged talents than Severus and had spent the last two years before this one in a state of intense fear, to say something like that to him.  
  
 _I think I should do something nice for him.  
  
I am in agreement_ , Severus drawled in the back of his head, carefully firming up the walls of the “tunnel” that contained his voice so that Draco couldn’t hear them, _and willing to help. His birthday is in a few days._  
  
Harry shivered. _I think that’s enough time._  
  
“What are you talking about?” Draco looked suspiciously back and forth between the two of them.  
  
Severus put a hand on his shoulder and pressed down. “You will find out in due time,” he said, quietly, repressively, and Draco accepted it.  
  
Harry felt a burst of joy and wonder travel through him. He could never have done something like that. He was bonded to, and literally surrounded by, two people who could do things that he couldn’t and who continually surprised him.   
  
Life was _marvelous._   
  
And because of that realization, he knew what he wanted to do for Draco.  
  
If he could simply be ready by the fifth of June.


	26. Chapter 26

  
“But the Ministry here doesn’t have any record of her parents’ marriage,” Hermione said, for the second time, leaning forwards as if she thought that she could drub the words she wanted to hear out of Harry with her fists. Harry stopped a sigh, but it was difficult. He wished she would let him _talk_ , since that was the only way she would ever hear the news he was trying so hard to tell her.  
  
“No, because Colben’s parents were married in France,” he said patiently. “The record of the wedding is in the French Ministry.”  
  
Hermione blinked as though someone had shot her. Harry leaned back and ran a hand enviously over the top of the Burrow’s kitchen table. It was smooth and silken with long years of use. It would be decades, probably, before any of the furniture in their house felt like that, even assuming they kept the same furniture that long. Draco had _ideas_ about that that sometimes invaded even the more…interesting…of the blended dreams.  
  
Harry flushed, though he wasn’t sure if it came from the thought of the dreams or the fact that he’d just seriously thought about spending decades with Severus and Draco, and took a long swallow of his butterbeer. Even though Ginny had finished her last year of Hogwarts and passed her seventeenth birthday, Mrs. Weasley still didn’t like anyone drinking anything stronger in her house.  
  
“Oh,” Hermione said at last. Then she rallied and said, “But someone might still try to say that her father didn’t really marry a Muggleborn and use that against us.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Then we’ll ask for a copy of her parents’ marriage records. Though it could possibly be insulting, so I think I’ll let _you_ be the one to ask that, thanks all the same.” He tilted the bottle of butterbeer back and squirted the liquid down his throat.  
  
“Insulting, maybe, but we have to have it,” Hermione said, which Harry knew meant the proof was as good as asked for.  
  
“Yes, all right,” he said, and then turned the conversation around. “Ron said something about you buying your own house.”  
  
Hermione flushed. “I _told_ him not to tell anyone,” she muttered. “We wanted it to be a surprise. And we knew that Molly would be hurt that we were moving out of the Burrow.” Then she relented and gave Harry a smile that made her look more relaxed than he’d seen her since she started helping him with politics. “But yes, we are.”  
  
Harry smiled back. “What made you decide on this now?”  
  
“Because we’re finally ready to _stay_ with each other,” Hermione said. She was looking at the table, and her cheeks were so red that she could have passed as an honorary Weasley. “I know that doesn’t sound like something big, but—”  
  
“No, it is,” Harry said, reaching out and squeezing her arm. “Where are you going to buy the house?” He both hoped and feared that she would say Hogsmeade. He would like having his best friends near him, but he wasn’t entirely certain that Severus and Draco would like it.  
  
“Some people are trying to establish wizarding villages again,” Hermione said. “They think part of the problem during the war was that the Death Eaters knew exactly where to go to target people, and Hogsmeade was so close to Hogwarts that taking over one was easy when they had the other. There’s a village called Iolanthe they’re trying to set up in the South, in Wiltshire.” She hesitated, then added, “Of course, with Apparition, Ron and I can reach the Ministry easily and you can visit us anytime.”  
  
“It’s good to hear that I’m welcome,” Harry said, and thought again of telling her about Draco and Severus. And again, the knowledge that his bondmates might not want their private life to be exposed stopped him.  
  
“Snape and Malfoy can come, too, if you need to be with them,” Hermione said.  
  
Startled, Harry looked up at her. She stared straight at him, then leaned back and picked up her own butterbeer. “If you need to,” she said, now looking out the window as though the sight of the Weasleys’ garden fascinated her.  
  
Slowly, Harry smiled. Maybe Hermione wasn’t aware of all the details, but she had probably noticed the change in his behavior that the open bonds had made, and she was telling him that it was all right, that he was still her friend and welcome in her house.  
  
And if she accepted it, Harry was sure that Ron eventually would as well. Ron was starting to consider Hermione’s opinion as more important than his own, most of the time. Given her guidance, Ron would probably come around to seeing that the feud between the Weasleys and the Malfoys was less important than Harry’s bonds.  
  
“Thanks, Hermione,” he said.  
  
“You’re welcome.” Hermione gave him a solemn look.  
  
Harry reached across the table and tapped his bottle of butterbeer against hers.  
  
*  
  
Draco knew Harry and Severus were talking about _something_ when he wasn’t there, but it was frustrating to try and catch them at it.   
  
He would spend hours in his lab, working on a potion that needed absolute concentration, and then he would come out and find Severus and Harry sitting in the library or the kitchen, staring intently at each other. Then they would glance away the moment he showed up and start talking in loud false voices. Draco had tried asking them bluntly what was wrong, but Harry simply shook his head furiously and Severus had adopted an inscrutable stare that seemed to suggest nothing could possibly be less wrong than his life at the moment.  
  
Sometimes he could feel thoughts darting between them like owls, carrying messages that he couldn’t hear. When he demanded to know whether they were criticizing him, Harry shook his head less furiously, and Severus gave him a cool look and said, “Studying you. No one can complain of the accumulation of knowledge.”  
  
“When it’s about me and you’re gathering it without my realization, I can,” Draco said in a low snarl, imagining that Severus was probably telling Harry some of the secrets that had come up between them when they were in bed together.  
  
Severus caught the edges of the thought and sent him back a fanged denial before he stood and departed the room in a whirlwind of dignity. Draco was left to brood and decide that the secrets Severus was telling Harry were probably even _more_ damaging than what he’d thought they were, so damaging that Severus didn’t dare allude to them.   
  
On the other hand, it seemed that Harry was perfectly capable of gathering his own information. He sat on the other side of the table during meals and in the library on a couch watching Draco. Once or twice Draco turned around panting during one of Ledbetter’s lessons or from a wrestling match with a difficult potion and found Harry standing there with his arms folded and head cocked, eyes fixed intently on him.  
  
“What do you _want_?” Draco asked him one of the times that he intruded into the lab. Harry’s eyes had become sharper and sharper over the last few days, as though some kind of deadline was approaching that meant he had to focus his concentration.  
  
“To make your life pleasant,” Harry said, and the bond between them was bright with crystal flames, which indicated Harry was being honest.  
  
Draco shook his head. “You’re making it _paranoid_ right now.”  
  
Harry smiled at him, and some of the ice that Draco thought he had seen in his eyes the last few days melted away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m _studying_ to make your life more pleasant, then. And sometimes my nervousness gets the better of me, and I start thinking that you won’t like my gift, and—” He shrugged. “It comes out like that.”  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. His birthday was in two days, and he was sure that Harry hadn’t meant to let that tidbit about a gift slip. He thought he could live with this for two more days if it meant a spectacular present.  
  
“I’d think that you could learn everything you need to know about me by now,” he contented himself with saying. “After all, you have the bond, and we live in the same house. What about me can be a mystery to you?”  
  
“What you really care about,” Harry said instantly. “Why your fits of courage and maturity never last longer than a few moments. Why you sometimes spend hours of patience on potions and other times act as though you want to smash a vial the minute it balks you. Why you take luxury for granted and want more of it but can live here with us and not have it.” He gave Draco a single intense look that seemed to sear into the middle of his soul. “ _You_ , Draco.”  
  
Flustered, frustrated, and more flattered than he wanted to let on, Draco looked away. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  
  
“Do,” said Harry, and clapped his shoulder, and strode away from the lab with a crest of blue flames playing through the bond.  
  
Draco blinked at his back and then turned to his potion, determined to spend the next two days thinking about something _other_ than Harry. And maybe Severus. He had no idea if Severus would be involved in the gift or not.  
  
 _I should have asked him_ , he thought, thinking back over the conversation and realizing that Harry had neatly deflected all the words away from that possibility. _He’s more subtle than I thought he was._  
  
There came the inevitable follow-up idea that that would not be difficult, given the opinion he’d entertained of Harry Potter’s subtlety in school, but the words no longer had a bite.  
  
*  
  
Harry was stupidly nervous, to Severus’s mind.  
  
He had a mouth. He had hands. He had an arse. He was bonded to Draco and genuinely cared for him, though with blazing undertones of anger that made Severus expect fights between them daily. He had opened the bonds, so any pleasure he induced in Draco would echo back to him and should make him more eager for his task. He was young and presumably knew something about what a young man would like, thanks to his experiments with Caesarion.  
  
Thinking about those experiments made Severus curl the page he was holding. He carefully flattened it and returned to his reading—or rather to his thinking, as the words gushing through his mind would not let him interpret the ones written before him.  
  
Nevertheless, Harry was nervous.  
  
And, the last few days, and especially after Harry’s conversation with Draco in the potions lab, there was a shut-up place in Harry’s mind that neither of his bondmates could access. Harry pretended it wasn’t there and spent a lot of time looking at Severus with speculative eyes.  
  
Severus knew what he _hoped_ that signified, but not what it truly did.  
  
At the moment, the bond between him and Harry dashed back and forth with sharp waves of panic, as though the moon were causing many separate tides in Harry’s soul. Draco’s bond was more settled and precise, but every now and then it, too, whirled with puffs like dust. Severus sometimes wondered if he would ever have privacy in his own head again.  
  
But he was good at muffling those feelings and concentrating when he wished to. So, at the moment, he must not truly wish to.  
  
Severus shut the book, folded his hands on top of it, and stared into the fire.  
  
Sometimes he felt out of place with them, these two young men who had already lived through many and varied things and looked forwards to a future just as varied. They had suffered; they refused to let the suffering define them. They had loved many people between them; they had not been scarred by a single great love. They had nightmares; they did not have twenty years of them, centering on a few central images. Severus had his bonds to them, but those were slender rope bridges flung out across a great abyss—  
  
“You’re getting maudlin.”  
  
So grave had his mood become that Severus actually imagined for a moment that Albus’s voice had spoken those words; these were the kind of thoughts that he would have when he was at Albus’s tomb. Then he rose and turned around and realized that Harry was standing in the doorway of the library, his arms folded and his glare disapproving. While Severus still tried to come up with an answer, Harry stepped forwards and launched words at him that were the perfect verbal counterparts of the bright blue lightning bolts twisting through the bond.  
  
“You’re sitting here thinking about my mother, as though she was the only one who ever cared for you. You’re sitting here thinking about nightmares, as though you were the only one who ever suffered them. You’re sitting here thinking about distance in the bonds, as though you were the only one who wondered if we would be able to live with this. And that’s not true. You’re shutting yourself away from us with _imagined_ barriers this time, not even the real ones.”  
  
Astonished, Severus stared at Harry for a moment longer before he recovered his voice. He certainly had not meant to share those last thoughts and those particular images. He wondered if he had been less guarded than he imagined or if Harry was more sensitive. Either seemed hard to grant. “You cannot deny that there is a vast difference in our ages and our experience. I would not blame you for trying to have an easier sexual relationship with Draco than with me. I _did_ love your mother, and—”  
  
“Bollocks,” Harry said rudely. “We’ve all been marked by the Dark Lord. And yes, you carried the Dark Mark, and so did Draco, but I had the scar. So don’t dispute with me about the literalness of that word,” he added, rushing ahead before Severus could come up with the words to argue him down. “And yes, my mother loved me, but she’s _dead_ , almost twenty years _dead_. You have to let go and move on from her sometime.”  
  
“I do not think,” Severus said coldly, stung to the quick in a way that astonished him almost more than it hurt, “that you have ceased to mourn your mother or want her back—”  
  
“At least I didn’t make the mistake,” Harry said, hissing like Nagini, “of thinking that no one else ever loved me just because she maybe loved me _most_. You had Dumbledore, and you have two people _right here in this house_ who could care for you _if you let them_. You are a horse’s arse if you go on brooding this way, Severus. We can’t comfort you if you go around being proud of how hard you are to comfort.”  
  
And he strode across the room, seized Severus’s hair in his hands, and kissed him so fiercely that Severus choked on his tongue.  
  
Severus leaned his head back and lifted his hands, determined to regain control of the kiss. But Harry didn’t let him. He pinned one of Severus’s hands to the chair and the other to the side of his head, and meanwhile he went on kissing him, thrusting his tongue as if he were imagining some other action, the action Severus had believed they would have to wait months for before Harry felt ready to undertake it. Severus’s cock hardened more quickly than he thought it had ever done since he was at Hogwarts, and he heard himself making a protesting, gasping murmur.  
  
Harry pulled back finally, licking one last time at Severus’s lips as he went. Then he stood there, arms folded as he gazed at him. His breath sounded hoarse and harsh, as if he’d just come out of a dank and dusty cave and needed the air. Severus started at him, not breathing much better himself.  
  
“ _There_ ,” Harry said. “You’re right. You’ve had a worse past than either of us. I don’t want to forget that, and I don’t think you should, either. But the only person who can ultimately let your past take over your future is you. Voldemort and Dumbledore are dead and can’t demand your allegiance anymore. You’ve made up any debt that you owed to my mother by keeping me safe. You’ve already said that you won’t let society call you a Death Eater and surrender to their perceptions of you. Why do you think that _we_ would let you surrender, either?”  
  
He turned and stomped out of the room before Severus could come up with a reply. He had to touch his tingling lips and his bruised fingers to convince himself, after a moment, that Harry’s rage had been real.  
  
Severus tried to go back to his book, but the right fibers wouldn’t stir in his mind yet. In the end, he had to lean back in his chair and spend some time becoming reacquainted with his body and his mind in the wake of Harry’s unexpected possession of it.  
  
It was a sensation he would not mind having more of.  
  
*  
  
Harry paced back and forth across the kitchen. Draco was currently at Malfoy Manor for a private dinner with Narcissa. Harry and Severus would give him their presents when he came back.  
  
And then it would be Harry’s turn to give the less traditional gift that he’d spent so many days studying Draco for, trying to decide on the best way to give him pleasure. Harry didn’t want to make it just fun for Draco. He wanted to make it fantastic.  
  
Harry tapped a fist against his mouth and frowned, glancing at the gift that waited on the edge of the table. It was obviously a book, wrapped in glittering silver paper; Harry wasn’t skilled the way Ginny seemed to be, at wrapping presents so that it became a guessing game to tell what they were until they were unwrapped. That book had been easy enough to choose. Draco had been moaning lately over his attempts to combine Defense and Potions, worrying that someone else had done everything before he could get there, so Harry had bought him a history of attempts to combine different magical fields. At least he should get to know how original he was that way.  
  
Severus had bought Draco a new cloak, soft and shadow-grey, almost exactly the color of his eyes.  
  
Harry shook his head. That was the kind of gift he would never dare to purchase until he knew Draco better. Nothing ornamental, nothing that said Harry had noticed the way he looked. Because he didn’t think he had noticed _enough_ , while Severus had known Draco much better than Harry for years and been his lover for months.  
  
 _What if I’m wrong about what he would like? What if I can’t please him because I’m not a sophisticated enough lover?_  
  
A sharp snake of repudiation curled around his mind. Harry started. He had chosen to brood now because he was certain that Severus was asleep, but the emotions melting and shifting through the bond said that he had come awake and, worse, that he could feel what Harry was thinking.   
  
_I do dislike a hypocrite who will ask others not to despise themselves while doing the exact same thing_ , Severus’s voice said in his head. Lately, it had sounded different, with a sharp chime to it that Harry disliked. It would not surprise him to know that Severus had found a way to render his voice different primarily to be exasperating.  
  
 _It’s not that I despise myself._ Harry held the collar of his robe away from his neck. It felt tight and hot, as if it were choking him. _It’s that I’m worried Draco might despise me. You can’t say that they’re the same thing.  
  
But ultimately, they do spring from the same root_ , Severus said disagreeably, his irritation sliding across Harry’s skin like rasping scales. _You fear yourself inadequate. You do not want to become our lover because of fear, primarily, not because of lack of desire or incompatibility. And that is not an adequate reason._  
  
Harry managed to smile, though he thought it felt more like baring his teeth. _You great charmer, you._  
  
There was silence for a moment, and Harry thought he had managed to persuade Severus to leave him alone. He still didn’t know how sensitive he was to the bonds where Severus was concerned. Sometimes he could miss an emotion from Severus that would make Draco vibrate in sympathy like a hound on the end of a leash, and sometimes he could catch the edges of thoughts that Severus had obviously intended to remain private. It seemed to depend on the time of day and his mood and level of alertness as much as anything else.  
  
 _Listen to me, Harry._  
  
Harry fidgeted a bit. The hardest tone of all to resist was the one where Severus sounded heavy and gentle, like a man speaking to an abused animal. Harry half-longed for and half-dreaded the soothing stroke down his spine that followed.  
  
 _You will do fine. Draco is not impossible to know. He is not some grand riddle that you must solve before you dare to climb into bed with him. I promise you, he will be as nervous and as full of anticipation about this as you are. Or else the anticipation will override the nervousness and he will not even notice any mistakes you make.  
  
At least you’re not claiming that I won’t make any mistakes_ , Harry snapped back. That was the sort of lie he had no patience for. He knew that Draco and Severus had often found fault with him in school, and it would be unnatural if they stopped completely.  
  
 _You would not listen to me even if I did._  
  
Then Severus’s snake of mingled irony and ridicule, contempt and comfort, glinted greenly in his mind and slipped away as Harry heard the sound of Draco stepping through the wards. _This is your chance_ , Severus said. _I will not be far away, should you wish to reach out to me for reassurance or comfort._  
  
Harry nodded shortly and took a step forwards, keeping the safe place in his mind carefully shielded with his astonishment that he should ever be exchanging such words with Severus Snape.  
  
What he hadn’t told Severus was that he would be a participant in tonight’s activities, too. Severus thought that Harry wanted to get to know Draco alone at first, because so far they had kissed and touched less often than Harry and Severus had. And that was partially right.  
  
But they were a bonded triad. Harry had no intention of leaving Severus out.  
  
*  
  
Draco came in through the front door of their house smiling. The evening with his mother had been more than pleasant. She had given him a small thing, an ornamental porcelain vase with etchings of horses on it that flew without wings, their long legs and their bending, swan-like necks curving around the grooves. But Draco had treasured it because it was a sign that his mother still trusted him not to have fallen away from all Malfoy breeding during the time he’d spent with Severus and Harry. She trusted his bondmates, too, not to break the vase during some careless gesture.  
  
And it was also an item from the Black inheritance, which Narcissa had brought with her when she married Lucius, not from the Malfoy inheritance. That involved all sorts of secret and silent meanings that Draco didn’t think he could have put into words even if he tried.  
  
He was mildly curious about the gifts that Severus and Harry had got for him, he thought as he shrugged off his cloak. He was sure that he wouldn’t get another gift as refined as the vase tonight, but—  
  
Then his brain stuttered to a halt, because he could feel the nervousness and the determination from Harry like a crashing crystal wave now that he was through the wards and nearer to his bondmates.   
  
The wave was mingled with darker undertones of lust, which Draco had gradually come to think of as something that Harry would never let himself feel.  
  
And Harry stood in the center of the entrance hall, staring at him.  
  
Draco licked suddenly dry lips and laid down his cloak on the small table near the door. It wasn’t the right place for it, but at the moment he was too frazzled to carry it into the sitting room, where the hooks were.  
  
“What are you doing?” he whispered.  
  
Harry smiled, and his bond softened and spread out like a pool of water, as if the sight of Draco’s nervousness had increased his confidence. “Something perfectly understandable, and which you’ll thank me for later,” he answered, as he stepped past Draco and picked up the cloak. “You _know_ that it would drive you mad to have this lying here, at least once you recovered.” He closed one eye in a slow wink and turned towards the sitting room.  
  
Draco shivered. His nerves were stretched taut, and he felt as though he were humming with fire. He felt along his bond with Severus, but encountered only dark, patient waiting that didn’t help him figure out what Harry was doing.  
  
Helpless to do anything else for the moment, he followed Harry into the sitting room and watched him hang the cloak up. Harry patted out a few drops of the light rain that had been falling and then turned and faced Draco with a slight smile.  
  
“What are you doing now?” Draco whispered. He wanted the suspense to end, but at the same time the sweetness of it sped his beating heart.  
  
Harry smiled and answered without words. He stepped forwards and placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders, kissing him squarely, once, on the mouth. He moved his face away before Draco could respond and kissed him on the cheeks, the forehead, and the ears. Draco’s breath stuttered as Harry’s tongue flicked gently along the lobes of his ears and then his teeth closed on one lobe.  
  
Draco moaned. “I love that,” he said, arching backwards until Harry had to shift his arms so that Draco wouldn’t drop to the floor. “Did Severus tell you?”  
  
Harry laughed and withdrew his teeth from Draco’s ear to respond, licking around the lobe again. “He didn’t need to tell me,” Harry whispered. “I watched you over the past few days and saw how you shivered whenever something brushed your ear. Your own hair, your cloak, Severus enchanting a quill to travel across the room to you and slightly missing his mark—it didn’t matter what it was. So that was when I decided I would like to do this.” He bent his head and returned to what he’d been doing.  
  
Draco reached out, fluttering his fingers along Harry’s shoulders, wanting to grip and not daring to. Harry bit again, then moved on to his other ear and bit that one. Meanwhile, one of his hands smoothed up and down Draco’s chest in a movement that might have been enough on its own to reduce Draco to babbling incoherence.  
  
Combined with the bites on his ears, it made his back arch and helpless moans and grumbles fall from his lips.  
  
Harry kissed him on the mouth again, and walked him backwards. Draco tried to keep track of where they were going, but had to give it up when Harry twisted one of his nipples and turned the pain to pleasure in the same stroke with another bite on his left ear.  
  
Draco’s knees hit something, and he hazily identified it as the couch. Harry sat him down and stood looking at him for a moment, his face dropping its teasing, playful smile. Draco blinked at him. _Has he lost his nerve after all?_  
  
Harry’s eyes narrowed, showing he’d felt the thought, and then he dropped to his knees in a rush and pulled off Draco’s trousers and pants in a smooth, swift motion that he must have practiced.  
  
Jealous images of Caesarion melted out of Draco’s mind as Harry did something else swiftly and smoothly and fastened his mouth around the head of Draco’s cock, sucking so that his cheeks puffed out.  
  
Draco cried out and tried to muffle it with a hand over his mouth. Harry swirled his tongue around and glanced up at Draco through laughing, challenging eyes.  
  
“I can still hear the sounds that you’re trying not to make in your mind, you know,” he told Draco, and ducked his head again. Once again, his tongue pressed forwards and swirled, and Draco whined and fell back against the couch. His hands fluttered down and onto Harry’s hair; then he moved them fretfully away. There was no escape from the pleasure and no means of bracing himself against it, no matter where he put his hands.  
  
And then the pleasure redoubled.  
  
It took Draco a moment to understand what was happening. His pleasure was falling down the bond to Harry, and what Draco felt was Harry’s reaction to _Draco’s_ sensations. He managed to force his eyes open and saw Harry sliding one hand into his pants even as he remained on his knees, sucking frantically.   
  
Draco cried out and bucked, entirely accidentally. He felt his cock slide against smooth palate and slick tongue and carefully covered teeth. Harry groaned, and his hand in his pants sped up.  
  
“Don’t come,” Draco said, though Merlin knew how he forced the words out in between hot surges of wonderfulness that seemed to enter his cock from outside. “I want to _see_ you when you come.”  
  
Harry groaned at him, but pulled his hand out of his pants and wrapped it around Draco’s erection instead, then focused furiously on giving Draco the best blowjob of his life.  
  
His tongue was everywhere, in a way that would have made Draco jealous if he hadn’t been sure a lot of it was natural talent, because there was no way that Caesarion had been _this_ good. His tongue, which Draco had seen a time or two, was too narrow. Harry probed at Draco’s slit, stroked the underside of his head as if he thought that it needed special attention, and then eased his mouth down the shaft and sucked with a nameless hunger.  
  
Draco reached out and stroked Harry’s cheek, letting one finger rest on the soft skin so that he could feel his own cock poking at his fingertip from inside. Harry’s eyes opened wide when Draco did that, then shut on another breathy moan. His tongue darted and whipped back and forth, and Draco had to shut his eyes so that the sparks could burst behind his eyelids.  
  
Another lash, the final one, and Draco came so hard that he knew he strained a muscle. The fiery force and recoil of his orgasm—the recoil coming through the bond—lifted and dropped him boneless on the couch, shaking.  
  
Harry stood up, his mouth moving as he struggled to swallow. Draco felt a moment’s smugness that his spunk was so copious that Harry had to struggle like that.  
  
Then he leaned down with blazing eyes and gave Draco a salty kiss.  
  
Draco tilted his head and gave himself up to it enthusiastically, his fingernails driving into and piercing the skin on the back of Harry’s neck. Harry gasped, but didn’t object, and that heavy panting into his mouth drove Draco all the more mad. He pressed on Harry’s shoulders, trying to urge him down so that he could return the favor.  
  
But Harry pulled back instead and hovered over him for a moment, with his eyes bright and his face bright and his smile bright and the bond so bright that Draco kept his eyes carefully open, because he would see it burning in the darkness of his mind if he closed them and it would blind him. Draco stared back up at him, wondering for a moment if he had done something wrong, not reacted the way Harry expected.   
  
“I did enjoy my birthday gift,” he said. “I promise.”  
  
But Harry’s response didn’t come aloud. He stepped back from the couch—though he kept a hand on Draco’s shoulder—and called in his mind, offering the thought freely to Draco as well, _Severus, aren’t you going to come down the stairs and share this with us_?  
  
*  
  
Severus dug his fingers into his palms. Though part of him had hoped for this summons without daring to expect it, it was almost painful to hear the words now.  
  
 _This should be between the two of you_ , he told Harry, carefully surrounding the thought with iron walls so that Draco couldn’t hear it. Draco was of the sort of sensitivity that would work Severus’s words into a rejection of him personally.  
  
 _It was_ , Harry said cheerfully. _And now it should be between the three of us. We’re bondmates. And—_  
  
He dropped the barriers over that private part of his mind, and revealed lust that dazed and dazzled Severus, roaring and shining like a fire made of rubies.  
  
 _I want you_ , Harry said. His voice was raw, and a trembling in the bond let Severus know that he wasn’t the only one feeling this particular nervous tension. _Come on, Severus. Let me pleasure you._  
  
The words acted like iron chains to tug Severus to his feet and guide him down the stairs. He was practically stumbling in his eagerness, at least until he realized how pathetic that would make him look. He clenched his teeth and managed to walk _smoothly_ in his eagerness, despite the fact that it looked as if his cock was leading the way.  
  
He understood now, perfectly, why Harry had shielded that part of his mind. Harry hadn’t wanted him to know that he’d been studying Severus as well, adding small impressions to the store of them that he already had, trying to decide what would please him.  
  
 _He could simply have asked_ , Severus thought, but he knew it couldn’t be that simple, for any of them, with their history and the tender pride that still made Harry think that he was being mocked when he wasn’t. Even ordinary lovers with every reason to trust each other did not always talk openly about their desires.  
  
This time, Harry poured treasures of wordless admiration over Severus like a jeweled waterfall, showing that he had studied his movements, his small grains of envy, his loneliness. Harry had noticed the darkness of his hair, the elegance of his hands, the unexpected softness of his skin along his ribs and on the back of his neck, the way he could concentrate to read a book through a storm, his darting intelligence. There was so much there, and Harry kept pouring his observations down, as if he were determined to make up for all the dry years of Severus’s life.  
  
Severus was dazed and stumbling by the time he reached the ground floor, but he still remembered the way to the sitting room.   
  
Draco lay back on the couch, his arms splayed wide, his eyes shut and his shirt hanging over his shoulders. Traces of a flush still haunted his cheeks and chest, making the pale flesh look more real. He opened his eyes when he heard Severus’s footsteps and gave him a soft, smoldering glance that caused Severus’s lips to dry out again. He had thought it was bad enough feeling Draco’s orgasm secondhand, and Harry’s pleasure in giving him that orgasm.   
  
And Harry stood over the couch, one hand on Draco’s shoulder, his eyes so open and inviting that Severus shuddered. It was like being touched with gentle fingers on that sensitive skin Harry had noticed, a touch that could turn into either shuddering ecstasy or a devastating pinch depending on what the toucher’s intentions were.  
  
 _Welcome_ , Harry said, and repeated it aloud a moment later. He extended his other hand to Severus, and waited.  
  
Severus had found many unexpected things to adore in Harry that evening, but perhaps greatest of all was this, the fact that Harry left the ultimate choice up to him. He would have been hurt, but he would have understood, if Severus had decided to walk away.   
  
Severus stepped up to him instead, and took his hand, and held it loosely for long enough to make Harry stare. Then he tugged Harry close to him, and into a kiss that made Harry gasp and almost struggle to escape.  
  
He had learned many things about kissing since the first months of his relationship with Draco, when Draco had seemed startled and delighted and yet not quite mindless under his lips in the way that Severus wanted him to be. He had learned to wield his tongue like a weapon in a new way.   
  
He did it now, sliding under the corners of Harry’s tongue and stroking there, tapping Harry’s palate and then his tongue in quick succession, guiding him into all sorts of unexpected movements that nevertheless felt good and made Harry shudder and slide down into his arms, still fighting to give as good as he got but unable to do so.  
  
Severus rejoiced a moment in his smugness, letting it flood his mind and the bonds like water burning blue.  
  
And then he realized that he shouldn’t have done that, as Harry opened his eyes, turned his head, and pierced him with a scalpel stare.  
  
The next moment, he had somehow pulled back and used one of the moves that Ledbetter had taught him to lay Severus on the couch next to Draco. Draco rolled out of the way, his muscles still languid, his eyes wide open, his breath torn between gasping and laughter.  
  
Severus tried to glare at him to let him know what would happen to him if he _did_ start laughing, and Draco shut his mouth. But his mind was still alive with mischievous snakes of lightning, which darted down and bit when Severus was occupied with the way Harry tugged his robes impatiently off. _Did you really think that you were going to stand up to his determination?  
  
You said yourself that I have grown to be a better kisser_ , Severus protested, wishing he didn’t feel quite so much like a landed fish as he flopped his legs and arms and tried to assist Harry in the removal of his robes.  
  
 _That wasn’t the question I asked_. Draco’s mind was bright with smugness now, too, and it was quite as irritating as Severus had always supposed. _I asked if you thought you could resist a stubborn Gryffindor’s determination._  
  
Harry had removed enough cloth by that point to get his mouth to where he apparently wanted it, on Severus’s cock, so Severus didn’t get the chance to answer as his thoughts dissolved into garbled incoherence.  
  
Harry sucked with his eyes closed, which made Severus wonder for a moment if Harry couldn’t bear to see what his older bondmate looked like naked. At the thought, Harry’s eyes popped indignantly open, and the clear flame burning in them drove any thought of Lily from Severus’s head. This was not Lily. Lily had been gentle and thorough. Harry was rushing, impatient; the image that came to Severus through the bonds was of a horse throwing up its head and running away with its rider because it knew where to go better than he did.  
  
 _Are you ever bloody hard to reassure_ , Harry snarled, and then he drove his mouth forwards and sucked strongly in one place, about halfway down the shaft, instead of moving around the way that he had with Draco.   
  
Severus arched his back, gasping. He didn’t know how Harry had realized that he would like this. Perhaps the bonds conveyed more in the way of unconscious fantasies and desires than he had thought.  
  
Then he thought about their blended dreams, and felt like a fool.  
  
Harry brought one hand into play, rolling Severus’s balls, teasing up around his arsehole, which clenched in pleasure. His other hand remained on Severus’s hip, and his eyes never varied their direct, strong stare, as though he was daring Severus to complain about _this_.  
  
Severus couldn’t. His head fell back and his throat shut so that only small puffs of air could come through—because he refused to admit that that madly embarrassing moaning noise could be him—and the pleasure crashed down on him like falling icebergs.  
  
He was already primed by feeling Draco come. That was the excuse he gave for why he thrust forwards in a stupidly short time and held himself there, flooding Harry’s mouth with his come. The thought of that, of the fact that the mouth that had argued with him and shouted at him and cast curses at him and smashed flat against his in a kiss was now stretched around his cock, made him come harder and give shorter, more savage thrusts.  
  
When he finished coming, he felt as though he wouldn’t be able to move for the rest of his life. He had to work to force his eyes open, instead of curling up on the couch and going to sleep without even a cleaning charm.  
  
His strength returned when he saw the two pairs of eyes watching him. One, Harry’s, was bright and gloating. That very triumph was a challenge to Severus.  
  
The other pair, Draco’s, darted from him to Harry and came back full of questions, but not the questions that Severus might have expected. Draco could hardly feel left out when Harry had sucked him off first. Instead, he was asking whether Severus felt strong enough to join him in tackling Harry.  
  
Severus nodded minutely.  
  
“Now, I think you need to acknowledge that I’m just _better_ than you at some things,” Harry had begun, in a tone so like a taunt that he really needed to blame what happened next on himself.   
  
He gasped as Draco sprang forwards and grabbed his hips, turning him so that he fell on the couch on his back. Harry tried to sit up, and Draco twitched his pants down. Severus bent over at the same moment and kissed Harry, plunging his tongue deep, trying to convey his pleasure and thanks in the way that his voice and mind, at the moment, would not allow him to do and which Harry might misunderstand through the bonds.  
  
Harry gasped and moaned when he had to open his mouth to admit Severus’s tongue. He went completely still when Draco’s mouth closed around his cock from the floor, tongue licking up and down the shaft. Severus knew what Draco was doing thanks to the bonds, as they cleared and stabilized again.  
  
Then Harry tried to express some waffle about how this was Draco’s birthday and how he’d wanted to honor Draco and Severus, and he didn’t want them to feel _obligated_ to do this for him just because he’d done it for them—  
  
 _Harry_ , Severus said, deliberately making his mental voice into a bark of the kind that usually quelled resistance from his Potions students. _Shut up and stop being stupid. We_ want _to do this._  
  
He sent a nod down the bonds to Draco, who increased the speed and pressure and tightness of his mouth until Harry’s protests shattered like glass and Severus could kiss him in peace.  
  
If _peace_ was the name for the wild, boiling excitement that all three of them shared at the moment.  
  
*  
  
Harry hadn’t envisioned something like this happening; he had thought he would come with his hand down his pants while sucking off either Draco or Severus, and he’d been fine with that. He’d left so much of this getting together up to them that it was right he take the lead for a little while. Later, when they felt more comfortable and had got over their surprise at what he was doing—  
  
But _now_.  
  
He had no barriers, given his lack of expectations. He fell apart long before he came, breathless and unanchored, drifting between the plunge of Severus’s tongue at one end and Draco’s at the other. Sometimes his flailing hands found a grip on robes or shoulders or the couch, but always another surge of sensation came along at the next moment to tear them free.   
  
He had thought that what he felt through the bonds before this was intense. He had had no idea. Severus and Draco at the moment weren’t feeling physical pleasure so much as the pleasure of finally having him with them, and it amazed and humbled Harry to know they felt this way about him. A storm of feelings, both physical and emotional, broke over his head, and he could only cower before it in awe and gratitude.  
  
And enjoyment.  
  
Oh, _was_ there ever that, as he thrust and thrust and thrust, and still Draco’s mouth never slowed down or faltered, simply moving in different directions so that he could adjust. His lips were fastened into a tight tunnel that spurred other images in Harry’s mind and made him want to wail aloud.  
  
Except that his mouth was kept busy by Severus, who by now was thrusting his tongue very deliberately into different places in Harry’s mouth, and causing him to imagine something else that made him want to wail aloud.   
  
Or were they part of the same thing?  
  
The images swirled and blended, the pleasure rose and fell apart and whirled upwards, the happiness of Draco and Severus now that he was with them showered over his head like rain, and then everything clapped together and flung him into space.  
  
Draco tightened his mouth further, greedily sucking. Severus paused, moved his lips slightly, and then thrust his tongue into the middle of Harry’s cheek.  
  
Harry screamed.  
  
And came.  
  
And then he fell from the storm to rest gently in safety, in the twining of two pairs of arms, and that was all he knew for a long while.


	27. Chapter 27

  
Severus had had so few warm, lazy mornings to enjoy in his life that he took his time waking up to enjoy this one.  
  
Perhaps the rest of his life would not be barren of mornings like slices of the rich golden cake he remembered once tasting as a child, filled with a creamy substance that Severus could not name but which stayed in his mind as the epitome of sweetness, thicker than honey, richer than wine. But he did not know that.  
  
So he opened his eyes slowly, and gazed at the sight in front of him. That turned out to be a pale shoulder, with a slightly darker one just beyond it. The pale shoulder was Draco’s, the darker one Harry’s, and they had pale and dark hair lapping over their shoulders to complement their skin. Severus lay there enjoying the contrast of colors for long moments before he moved his head and glanced at his own hand.  
  
It rested on Harry’s back, but his arm stretched across Draco’s, so that he might feel both of their skins at the same time. Severus remembered arranging it that way last night; he had not known that his arm would remain in the same position when he woke. Now he absorbed all he could of smooth, slightly sweaty skin through his fingertips before he turned his head and moved on.   
  
When he pushed his nose slightly forwards, he could smell his bondmates. Normally, the scent of unwashed human skin was not his favorite—there were Potions ingredients that smelled much better—but at the moment, he could think of no sweeter perfume. That scent had been earned in pleasing him and each other. Severus lay there until he had drawn the last particle of meaning he could think of from the smell.  
  
He shifted his head on the pillow—not nearly enough to awaken them—and studied their faces. Draco slept with his eyelashes fluttering slightly, though Severus did not think his breath hard enough to reach them. He looked less young and relaxed than he had only a few months ago, which told Severus that sleeping faces did not always tell the truth. Draco had more reason for relaxation after last night’s activities than he had had in all those months.  
  
Nevertheless, it was his bondmate’s face and therefore special to him, so he spent some minutes looking at it before he turned to Harry.  
  
Harry slept as hard as he did everything else, his eyes squinted shut and his lower lip caught between his teeth. A line stabbed down the middle of his forehead as if to make up for the lack of a scar there. Severus’s hand twitched, but he did not think he could reach Harry’s face and smooth away that line without waking him, and this chance to watch him asleep was too rare for that.  
  
 _Hopefully only the first of many chances_ , Severus thought, but even now, he could not allow himself to take that for granted. He watched instead.  
  
Harry stirred too soon, as if he felt the pressure of eyes on him. After his long experience with celebrity, Severus would not be surprised if he had some sensitivity. He blinked his eyes open and stared at the pillow fuzzily for a long moment, as if he were trying to understand why it was larger than his own. Then he remembered with a visible jolt that also sent red ripples down the bond and turned over.  
  
Severus smiled at him, and watched in fascination as Harry’s face changed. He had never been this close so early in the morning, and Harry had never been without the glasses that sometimes masked his eyes and hid some of his emotions. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks red. Then he went a bit pale as he seemed to remember how he had fallen asleep last night immediately after his climax. Then he glared at Severus as if daring him to remark on that, and when Severus simply looked back and said nothing that would humiliate Harry, he scratched his head and sat up, being careful not to shift Draco. That sign of unconscious consideration touched Severus more than some of Harry’s carefully considered compliments.  
  
Harry felt it, but didn’t seem to understand, since he blinked at Severus for a long moment before he whispered, “I don’t remember climbing into this bed last night.”  
  
“You are right,” Severus said, keeping his fear that Harry would balk at sharing a bed—so simple a thing after what they had done already—out of his voice, and as much as possible out of the bond. “Draco and I carried you here.”  
  
Harry shivered, and bit his lip. Then he said, “As long as you aren’t going to make any jokes about stamina.”  
  
“Why would we do that, when you were the one who lasted longer than either of us without coming, and it took two of us to make you?” Draco’s voice was slurred with sleep, but there was nothing uncomprehending about his face as he turned and smiled up at Harry. He reached up a hand and ran it with casual possessiveness from Harry’s ear down his neck. “If anyone has to worry about stamina, it’s us, Harry.”  
  
Harry’s eyelids fluttered, as if he were struggling to process a compliment from Draco. Then he clasped Draco’s hand and chuckled. “It’s pleasant to hear you say so.”  
  
Draco exchanged a soft smile with Severus before he sat up and gave Harry a long, slow, leisurely kiss. Harry kissed back, after a small noise and a gesture of reaching out to include Severus. Severus rose on his knees, embraced Draco around the waist, and bent down so that he could join the kiss from the side, as Draco had once joined his and Harry’s.  
  
Draco’s hand was wandering, and Severus felt the splash of surprise through the bond when his fingers curled around and stroked Harry’s cock. Harry moaned a moment later, and Severus discovered how quickly a simple sound could make him hard.  
  
“I got to suck you last night,” Draco whispered in Harry’s ear as he pressed him back onto the bed, “but I didn’t get to do _this_.”  
  
Harry smiled up at Draco, then twisted to the side and rolled so that he was the one kneeling over Draco. As Draco blinked up at him, Harry reached out and closed _his_ hand around Severus’s erection. Severus nodded at Harry and grasped Draco’s cock.  
  
Draco closed his eyes and indulged in a few thrusts before he said, “There’s no taking you by surprise or confusing you once you make up your mind, is there?”  
  
“That hasn’t always been a good thing,” Harry muttered, shadows flickering across his face.  
  
Severus kissed him, pushing his tongue in to touch Harry’s cheeks the moment his lips opened, and the bond pulsed with smooth waves of happiness. Harry obviously decided that bad memories could wait—they would always be there, after all—and began to slide his hand back and forth in a way that fulfilled several of Severus’s fantasies from the blended dreams at once. As he thrust forwards, however, he did not forget to stroke Draco, and Draco had never let up on Harry, sealing the link. Emotions and sensations flooded Severus from three directions and tore him away from his anchorage in his own body, setting him loose on a sea of brilliance and color.  
  
He did not fear. He knew that, if for some reason he could not find his way back to his body, his bondmates would bring him back.  
  
Among the things his life had not held enough of until now and which he intended to enjoy to the fullest was trust.  
  
*  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Draco looked at the floor and smiled. For once, his mother seemed incapable of understanding the expression on his face, and that was a novel experience.  
  
“You told me that you could understand my every look and gesture, Mother,” he murmured, lifting a delicate sandwich to his mouth. Narcissa would not tell him exactly what ingredients went into the green paste that fastened the sandwiches shut; Draco suspected that she didn’t know herself, since the house-elves prepared it. But that did not matter, as it was delicious. “Have you suddenly lost your ability to interpret them? Certainly you should know.” He turned towards her and blinked.  
  
Narcissa studied him across the broad table, her eyes narrowed. Then she turned away and deliberately took another bite of her sandwich. “I have not seen you recently enough to come to a conclusion,” she said.  
  
Draco had to swallow a laugh. She had seen him three days ago when they had the private birthday dinner. But perhaps it wasn’t kind to make fun of her confusion, however fun it was to watch.  
  
“Very well,” he said, and ate another sandwich. They were small enough to fit cradled into the palm of his hand, but his parents had taught him how to make them last ten bites. Draco managed it and smiled at his mother. “I see that I shall have to visit you often, so that you can study my face and come up with theories about what my expressions mean.”  
  
Narcissa’s hand tightened on her fork for a moment, and then she forced her fingers wide. “I look forwards to your visits, my son,” she said. “Always.”  
  
She ate a sandwich with _eleven_ bites. Draco made sure to eat his next one with twelve, and to watch his mother’s eyes narrow as she tried to figure out what, if anything, that meant.  
  
*  
  
“Something happened.”  
  
Harry hid a groan. He still hadn’t discussed with Draco and Severus whether they wanted him to reveal the change in their relationship to Ron and Hermione, and he was reluctant to do it without their approval.  
  
Still, from the way Hermione was staring at him as they sat in the garden of the Burrow under an Impervious Charm to shield them from the persistent rain, Harry knew he wouldn’t get anything done until he told her something that satisfied her.  
  
“Yes, something did,” he said. “And I don’t particularly want to tell you what it is right now. It involves secrets that aren’t mine.” He reached for the folder that she had under her hand, but Hermione moved it further away.  
  
“Is it painful for you?”  
  
“Painful to try and _explain_ ,” Harry said, with a pointed look.  
  
Hermione frowned. “Are you unhappy?”  
  
“No,” Harry said. “I’m really not.” He relaxed and let as much of the happiness as he could show her come through in a smile. “I promise. Severus sand Draco would do something about it immediately if I was unhappy, considering how protective they are of me. And I wouldn’t be able to hide it so well.  
  
He watched Hermione hesitate, caught between her burning desire to know every secret in her immediate presence and the apparent fact that he couldn’t lie to her if he was really unhappy. Finally, she nodded slowly and opened the folder. “I can accept that,” she said. “And someday you’ll tell me, won’t you?”  
  
Harry nodded, meaning that he would tell her about the relationship with Draco and Severus. He didn’t think he could ever explain the burning golden fluid that seemed to soak every joint in his body and ease his movements to anyone outside the bond.   
  
Or how it made him happy simply to look at Draco and Severus’s faces and trace the progress of thoughts across their features and eyes.   
  
Or how the faces of distrusted enemies had become the faces of people he trusted more than anyone else.  
  
Or how it felt to have sex with two other people.  
  
He coughed, because the last thought was making his body respond and Hermione _would_ notice that, and then leaned forwards so that he could get a look at the folder Hermione held. “Did you find the proof of Colben’s parents’ marriage?”  
  
Hermione nodded. “It was on record with the French Ministry, the way that Kingsley said it was.” She sighed. “I wish we could trust him to speak the truth all the time, but I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “He’s changed his mind too many times now, and he still won’t tell me of these political dangers that he seems to face from Huxley, which lessens my ability to help him. I—”  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” Ron said, shooting out the door and into the chair beside Hermione, where he kissed her cheek. “Mum wouldn’t let me out of the house until my room was sufficiently clean for her.” He shuddered. “It’s going to be bloody _brilliant_ having a house of our own where no one worries about that kind of thing.”  
  
“Maybe Hermione will,” Harry said lightly, to warn Ron as well as he could of the storm he saw gathering in Hermione’s eyes.   
  
Ron smiled and turned to his girlfriend, then dropped the smile and said, “Well, anyway, cleaning rooms that belong to us will be different.” Then he refocused on Harry and stared. Harry braced himself for some comments like Hermione’s about how something had obviously happened.  
  
Instead, Ron laughed and clapped Harry on the back. “You had sex, didn’t you?” he asked.  
  
Harry stared at him. When Hermione hadn’t proven astute enough to guess the obvious source of his happiness, he had been sure that Ron would be blind.  
  
“Oh, of _course_ ,” Hermione said, in a tone of voice that indicated she wished Harry’s big secret had been something else. “So, when do we get to meet your boyfriend, Harry? Or girlfriend,” she added conscientiously. She seemed better than Ron at keeping in mind that Harry might not be exclusively gay even though he’d dated a man.  
  
“Um,” said Harry. “Well.” Nothing for it now, or he would be lying to his best friends, and he didn’t need to cope with resentment from them. He hoped that Draco and Severus would like this better than encouraging his friends to believe lies about an imaginary lover. “You’ve met them already.”  
  
Ron’s face froze. Hermione’s jaw dropped open. Then they both sat still for so long that Harry waved his hand in front of their faces, because it was rather like sitting with a pair of statues.  
  
“Snape and Malfoy?” Ron whispered.  
  
“It finally happened between you, then?” Hermione couldn’t get her voice above a whisper, either, though her tone was considerably less complicated than Ron’s.  
  
“Um,” Harry said helplessly.  
  
Hermione flung her arms around him. “I knew that someday you would see the bond was meant to act this way and that threesome relationships are normal and happen in ordinary life!” she exclaimed. “I’m so happy for you, Harry.” She rocked him back and forth, smoothing her hands up and down his back as if he thought that he might run away if she didn’t keep touching him.  
  
Harry accepted that simple embrace for a little while, mostly because he was dreading facing Ron. When he thought that he couldn’t put it off any longer, he took a deep breath and turned to look at him.  
  
Ron was shaking his head back and forth, but as if he couldn’t really understand what had happened, not as if he was angry. He looked at Harry, and then down at his arms, though Harry’s sleeves mostly hid the phoenixes there. Then he looked over Harry’s shoulder, as if he expected to see Severus and Draco stepping out of the woodwork. Then he scratched his head and stared at the ground.  
  
“Ron?” Harry breathed when Hermione sat back and beamed at him some more. His tone caught her attention, and she glanced from him to her boyfriend. Then she caught her breath and frowned. At least she didn’t try to interfere, which Harry was deeply grateful for. He didn’t think Ron would want to feel pressured into accepting Harry’s bondmates.   
  
There was a silence that grew more and more tense, until Harry had wild visions of standing and running out of the garden just so that the moment would end. Then Ron took a deep breath and started everything moving again. His hand shot out and clasped Harry’s, and his smile was a little sad and a little wondering and far more accepting than Harry had expected.  
  
“It’s still your life, mate,” he whispered. “No matter how much I might wish that you’d chosen someone else, I can’t make you do it, and I think you’d be miserable if you had.” He hesitated, then added, “I have heard people say that bonds are so intense that people are never happy if they try to form relationships that are just as intense outside them. Lovers and friends and so on have to accept that they’ll always be less important than bondmates. That’s just the way it is.”  
  
Harry gave him a small smile. “I did think I could have an easy relationship with Cadell at first,” he said. “But—”  
  
Ron laughed at that, the sound free and ringing. Hermione collapsed back in her chair as if she had gone boneless. Harry knew the feeling. If Ron had opposed this, it would have been so much harder.  
  
“Mate,” Ron said through his chuckles, “you don’t _do_ easy.” He squeezed Harry’s hand harder. “I hope that you’re happy. And that’s all that I can say about it, because trying to think about what you do in bed with them…” He shuddered and his face turned green.  
  
“I don’t want to think about you and what you do, either,” Harry retorted, and then had to practically kneel on the ground to avoid the hex from Hermione.  
  
*  
  
Severus thought this the most peaceful afternoon he had ever known.   
  
Harry, who had not slept well last night for reasons probably related to shyness and nervousness—as most of his reasons were—was taking a nap in their bedroom, and the flickers of his dreams were hardly able to disturb Severus.  
  
 _Their_ bedroom.  
  
Severus whispered the words under his breath and rolled them around in his mouth, rejoicing in a taste much like that of fine wine. If he did not want to speak them aloud, that was a tribute to his dignity rather than to any foolish fantasy that the good fortune could not possibly belong to him, Severus Snape.  
  
Surely.  
  
Draco was in the lab, working on a potion from a book so ancient Severus himself would not have worked with it unless he could find confirmation of the recipes in a more modern text. He had examined the book carefully, however, and discovered no use or ingredients listed in it that would do harm to a student of Draco’s advanced knowledge. Perhaps this would go some way towards helping him discover his specialties and where his skill lay. Draco liked to think he was talented at “Potions,” but he did not yet know enough to know whether it was healing potions, disguise potions, love potions, or something else that would call to him and flow away from his hands almost without effort.  
  
His thoughts as he attempted to discover that made for very pleasant company, flowing and brushing past Severus’s own thoughts like oil.  
  
He himself sat with a book in the library, for once not a book about potions or magical bonds, but about one of his minor interests, the causes of the historical separation between Muggles and wizards. Of course there were dozens of official reasons for the Statute of Secrecy, but Severus had long since discovered that the only thing worth less than one of the Ministry’s official stories was the person who took them seriously.  
  
It was a glorious June day, and he glanced up frequently from his book to admire it. He and Draco had planted the garden with Potions ingredients, mostly, but _he_ , being a man of refined tastes, could find the shimmer of sunlight on thick green leaves as beautiful as the sunlight on blossoms.  
  
He had bondmates. He had lovers.  
  
His life was replete.  
  
And so of course it was at that moment that he felt someone halting outside the wards and waiting for permission to pass them.  
  
Severus sighed and cast a small detection spell, combined with a mirror spell, that would bounce his sight off the interior defenses and to the outer limit of the garden wall, letting him see without being seen. He waited a moment so that he could get used to the disorienting ricochet that he usually experienced, lights shooting past him as what he saw in front of him rapidly altered, and then peered ahead.  
  
Estella Colben stood there, her gaze fastened on the house and a faint frown on her face. Severus looked for chaperones or hangers-on, including Swanfair, but there was no one else with her.  
  
It was curiosity more than anything else that made Severus drop the wards and let her in. She had seemed as sincere as a political pawn could be when he had used Legilimency on her. And he had not expected her to seek them out. The unexpected could be the interesting, at least now that he had a secure place to rest and a secure footing to stand on.  
  
He reached out through the bonds, and hesitated as Harry’s dreams continued. He was reluctant to awaken him if he did not need to. The wards that would have told him if someone approached with hostile intent had not gone off. He did not think Colben magically powerful enough to fool them. That left honesty, of a sort.  
  
He did warn Draco of who had come, and Draco hesitated. _Did you want me to come out and be with you when you confront her?  
  
No_ , Severus decided, rising to his feet and lowering the wards in the same motion. He opened the door and motioned to Colben, who lifted her head and came walking up the path, robes in motion around her. She had still not smiled that Severus had seen. Perhaps she did not in public moments. _Stand ready in case I need you. But I wish to see how she reacts to me alone, when I am the one who must most strongly remind her of the Death Eater connection in her family._  
  
Draco murmured assent; most of his mind had already vanished back into the problem of the potion. Severus restrained his headshake as he bowed to Colben. He did not want her to interpret any gesture of his as a rejection, at least until he had decided if he wished to reject her.  
  
“Greetings, Severus Snape.” Colben’s voice was deeper than he remembered, but perhaps that was because she did not need to perform for a crowd and sound totally unaffected and natural at the moment. She stared into his face and held onto his hand as though she had forgotten she had it. Severus had the impression that was the truth, but still he freed himself as quickly as possible, because there was always the possibility of poison smeared on the fingernails and absorbed through the skin.   
  
“Greetings, Estella Colben,” Severus said, deciding that he needed to be equally formal. “What brings you here?”  
  
“The discovery of something that might have caused your trust in me to waver.” Colben’s nostrils flared then, but it was her only visible sign of anger. “Might we go in and sit?”  
  
“Certainly.” Severus cast a net of wards to surround her, the same kind that he bound Swanfair with whenever she came into the house. They would protect her from flying hexes should one of them lose their temper—or, more likely, should Harry or Draco lose their tempers—but they would also prevent her from harming them directly with magic.  
  
Colben stiffened when she saw the flourishes of his wand. Then her eyes narrowed, and she followed his motions with eager attention for a moment. When she understood what they were, and Severus had no doubt she did, she gave him another direct stare and, this time, a contemptuous smile.  
  
Severus cocked an eyebrow at her and said, “You can understand my desire to take precautions.”  
  
“Of course.” Colben sat down on the chair he indicated to her, gathering her robes around her in a way that would allow her to rise quickly. Severus approved of that, and the fact that he could not locate her wand in a quick scan of her body, at least in the abstract. If she was to become a foe for them, it would be rather more worrying. “Were I you and distrustful of myself, I would no doubt do the same thing.” She folded her hands and stared at him again.  
  
“You have not yet stated your business openly.” Severus took his former chair, and wrapped the book in a similar small net of wards. That made Colben’s face lose some of its suspicions, which was the purpose of the gesture. Severus regarded her evenly. “I find that disturbing.”  
  
“I lack the right words for diplomacy,” Colben said. Severus knew that was a lie, having seen her speak and give the crowd exactly what they wanted, but it was a good thing to know that she was not above deception. Her seriousness, unlike the wit that most pure-bloods displayed (or imagined they were displaying), meant that he had been in danger of esteeming her too honest. “So I will simply say it. Hermione Granger requested the record of my parents’ marriage from the French Ministry. This says that there is mistrust connected to my words.”  
  
Severus hissed under his breath in irritation, so that Colben would see nothing but the slight bend inwards of his cheeks. _Stubborn, impulsive girl_! He had been sure that Harry would check Granger, and be able to argue that it wouldn’t advance their cause to make their candidate angry with them. But either he could not, or he had not wanted to try.  
  
 _Or he knew that there would be more trouble and fuss if he tried than the matter was worth_ , Draco said unexpectedly into his head. _You’re too hard on him, you know, when you start blaming him for the sins of his friends. Blame him for his own sins. God knows they’re common enough. He still thinks that he’ll disappoint us if he becomes our lover in all possible ways, did you know that?_  
  
Severus took a short breath. This was the overwhelming side of the bonds, when Draco or Harry filled his head with energy and fifteen different bounding thoughts, and he had to sort among them and select the most important. Luckily, in this case that was not difficult, given that the bond would endure far longer than any transient disappointment in or argument with Colben.  
  
 _Perhaps you are right, and I should not be so hard on him_ , he said. _And I had not sensed that particular thought from Harry, but it does not surprise me_. He moved on smoothly before Draco could interrupt. Whether or not Harry would ever be comfortable with anal sex was not the point right now. _At any rate, what would you suggest, since Colben is here and angry about it?  
  
Admit it and charm her with her own honesty, or what she will think is her own honesty._  
  
Draco’s thought bore a scorpion sting in the tail, a contempt that suggested he had expected Severus to figure out that course for himself. Severus carefully did not roll his eyes as he turned back to Colben.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “Our researchers feared that you might have been lying about your mother being Muggleborn, based on your pure-blood ancestor’s stated position.”  
  
Colben shook her head slowly. “And yet,” she said, “though I am of my family, I am not them.”  
  
Draco’s shock sounded like a bell in Severus’s head. That was not at all the thing that he had expected her to say, Severus gathered, while Draco’s thoughts reformed in wheeling patterns too scattered to call for words. Most pure-bloods put loyalty to family first, and Draco had expected that her father would have taught her to do the same. Because she had a Muggleborn mother was not enough reason to change his mind; no doubt a Muggleborn would have been so thrilled to marry a pure-blood that she would never tell her daughter to be proud of one parent’s inferior status.  
  
Draco still had much to learn in some senses, Severus thought, even as the picture of his own mother and father filled his mind and he had to acknowledge there was some truth to the idea of the “superior” parent teaching his or her child to value only one half of his heritage.  
  
“I understand,” he said. “Still, what we are concerned with at the moment is how much your father was of his family and their ideals, rather than you yourself.”  
  
Colben gave a small smile, as though to say this was a deception and she saw through it. Severus felt a quiver of irritation. He had not intended to deceive, and he did not think that he had.  
  
“My father was not entirely loyal to his family, either, but most to his own pleasure when he courted my mother.” Colben gave a small shrug. “In the meantime, how do you intend to redress the insult that you have offered me?”  
  
“By beginning again on a newer and firmer footing.”  
  
Severus clenched his teeth to keep himself from jumping. He had not felt Harry waking or moving closer, so his voice from the stairway came as a shock. A moment later, Harry walked into the room, his face flushed and his hair still rumpled from sleep.  
  
 _He could at least have cleaned up first_ , Draco whinged.  
  
Seeing the slight softness about Colben’s mouth, Severus was not sure that Harry’s messiness had not earned them more than perfect cleanliness would have.  
  
“Tell me what this newer and firmer footing will consist of, Mr. Potter.” She steepled her fingers beneath her chin and gave him a thoughtful attention that Severus had to admit impressed him. If she could look at people like that in the rest of the campaign—or rather, if she could convince every individual person that she was looking at them like that—they would feel comfortable enough to vote for her despite her relatively unknown status.   
  
“I intend to make several agreements between us now.” Harry wasn’t smiling again, and his focus on Colben was so intense that Severus felt as though he had drawn further away from the bonds that connected them. “Rather than waiting until you are in office, as I have no doubt that Swanfair intended.”  
  
“She had said something to me about later agreements, that is true.” Colben leaned back so that her arms sprawled along the top of the chair and cocked her head. “She had assumed you would not mind waiting. She did not think of you, and neither do I, as someone to whom power matters.”  
  
“It matters to me so that the wrong people won’t hold it.” Harry edged a step nearer, and Colben’s hand twitched in a way that told Severus her wand was up in the shoulder of her robe, near the collar. “I want some reassurances that you and Swanfair aren’t the wrong people.”  
  
Severus winced. _He has just insulted her more than Granger’s requesting her parents’ marriage records ever could have_ , he told Draco.  
  
 _I don’t think so_ , Draco said, his voice in the bond a slender blue spiral of surprise threaded with the gold of delight. _Watch_.  
  
“That is reasonable,” Colben said calmly, and Severus checked his sharp exclamation. Apparently the woman had a streak of honesty inside her extreme enough to allow her to assent to Harry’s proposal. He wondered if Swanfair knew about this, and if she would consider Colben quite such a controllable puppet if she did. “You should know that at least one thing Swanfair told you is true. I do have every intention of sharing power once I’m in office. I know that I don’t have the expertise to settle every single problem that comes before me, and I would have to rely on others in any case to tell me what the truth is. I am already considering an independent team of investigators that I can send into situations where they have no emotional connection and there is a tangled mess of competing sides of the story. I do not want to rely on solely pure-bloods or solely Muggleborns if there is a dispute between them, for example.”  
  
Harry folded his arms and regarded her skeptically. “That sounds like a good idea, but surely you must have debts to the pure-bloods who are helping you get into power. What happens if they think you’re listening to Muggleborns or your independent investigators too much and start feeling resentful?”  
  
“Oh, I’ve already promised them any number of positions,” Colben said comfortably. “All out of the country. Many of them expressed a preference for living in Italy, France, and the like, in the wizarding communities there. I intend to send them.”  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow. It sounded plausible, though he noticed the dark expression that enfolded Harry’s face and expected the objection that followed.  
  
“But what if they damage our relationships with other countries?” Harry leaned forwards as if he’d spent his entire life arguing about things like this. “If they don’t do a good job, or do such a poor one that you’re forced to take notice?”  
  
“At the moment,” Colben said, “our relationships with other countries are strong and safe. It will take even incompetent ambassadors a long time to do much damage to that structure, at which point I can hope that things in Britain will be more under control and shift my attention elsewhere. Most of them know that they must maintain at least a minimum level of competence to retain their jobs, and several also have relatives in those other countries who can tell them if they are acting poorly.” She shrugged. “It’s not a perfect solution, but nothing is. Better than not fulfilling my debts to them, at least.”  
  
Harry nodded slowly. “Who are the kind of people you intend to appoint to positions in Britain?”  
  
“I understand that your friend Hermione Granger is becoming an inspiring law student, and that she has interests in freeing house-elves,” Colben said. “I have long thought that we can do without house-elves, and the pure-bloods who hold onto them are doing little else than lording it over others with a symbol of superiority. Granger can look into ways that we can do without them and what we should do instead. It will serve as a cause to focus her energy, a test for future projects of the same kind in treating magical creatures well, and a distraction for the excitable from other reforms that I plan to put into place, which will run deeply and might rouse more opposition.”  
  
Harry laughed shortly. “I could say that you were too cynical for my tastes, but I suspect that you’re dealing better with the realities of becoming Minister than I am.”  
  
“Yes,” Colben said simply, “I think I am, too.”  
  
 _I reckon we can at least be grateful that they get on so well,_ Draco muttered in Severus’s head.  
  
Harry stepped towards Colben again. He stood only a foot or so away from her now, and Severus’s fingers twitched with the desire to grab him back, out of danger, in case Colben moved more swiftly than it looked as if she could. They still hadn’t seen her in battle and didn’t know what she was capable of there. “I have to put up with you making decisions out of expediency and using me and my friends,” Harry continued, in a tone of slight complaint, “because I know that I don’t know enough about politics to come up with a better way. Maybe there’s a way to govern with complete honesty and by the principles I believe in, without giving in to political pressure and tolerating corrupt people.”  
  
Colben smiled. “There is,” she said. “But it is called dictatorship, and I do not believe that even your strong support among most of the population for killing Voldemort would allow you that.”  
  
Harry gave her a single sharp smile. “So the next-best choice,” he said, “until the Ministry can be thoroughly reformed and we can find people who really will do their job for the love of it, is to ally with someone whose principles I know and whose tactics I don’t much object to.” He took a deep breath. “I told Hermione that I was sure your parents’ records were in the French Ministry, but she contacted them anyway. I am sorry for that. Is there anything else that you feel I have to apologize for?”  
  
“No,” Colben said. “I can promise that your friend Weasley will remain in Auror training and his father in his office, and I have already told you what new project I’m going to offer your friend Granger. I imagine that the hardship of the task will somewhat make up for the distress she caused me by inquiring after my parents’ marriage.” She folded her arms and regarded Harry with a steady gaze. “But I do not have solid plans yet for the three of you. What will you demand from me in exchange for your support?”  
  
Harry’s eyes flashed and the bond rose in such storm that Severus had to control his impulse to stand up from the couch. “Two things,” he said. “First, I want Severus and Draco to have regular access to the Potions Department of the Ministry, so that they can have ingredients, brewing space, and the latest research when they need it.”  
  
Severus blinked and lowered his head. Draco murmured in the back of his mind, the slow sounds never quite forming into words.  
  
“And second,” Harry went on, his voice rising, “I want a guarantee of absolute safety from you. I want your promise that the Ministry’s Aurors will never attack us again without proof that we were involved in some sort of crime. I want an apology from the Ministry for its actions so far and an arrest of Griselda Huxley, since she was the only individual who acted so openly against us.” He glared at Colben fiercely. “Can you promise those?”  
  
“Without hesitation,” Colben said. “Of course Potions masters must keep up with the latest research.” She paused.  
  
Harry glared at her some more.  
  
“And in nothing has Minister Shacklebolt disappointed me more than in his inability to recognize that he squanders both power and good will by antagonizing you,” Colben said. “Yes, I will promise all that you demand.”  
  
Harry nodded slowly. Severus was pleased to see that he was not such a fool as to simply accept her word, but everything was hypothetical for the moment until Colben managed to get into a position of power. That she was willing to promise this much when Harry was not the only one who supported her was a good sign.   
  
_No,_ we are _not the only ones who support her_ , Harry said, his thought snapping at Severus’s thoughts like a furious hummingbird. He flew off again before Severus could retort, fixing his attention on Colben. “Then I think we have nothing more to say to each other for the present, unless you think that you need another apology from me.”  
  
“No.” Colben turned for the door. “I intend to tell Granger about the offer I have for her at the same moment as I ask for an apology from her. I can do no more for now.”  
  
She left, and Severus unwrapped the web of wards that had surrounded her and lifted the outer wards to let her depart. He expected at least one glance back and one mocking smile, but apparently Colben was not interested in letting her enemies know what she was up to. She kept walking, her head up and a stern, distant look on her face.  
  
“I appreciate that you let me sleep, but it wasn’t necessary,” Harry said stiffly from behind him. “I think I handled her better than you did.”  
  
Severus turned around. Harry stood behind him with his arms folded, his chin tilted up, and his eyes so bright with half-concealed anger that they rivaled the green fire that likewise crawled up the bond.  
  
“Severus wasn’t trying to say that you were weak or incompetent to handle her, you _prat_ ,” Draco’s disgusted voice said from the direction of the potions lab. “You know that. He couldn’t have known that Colben would come to the door while you were sleeping.”  
  
Harry glanced once at Draco, and then turned back stubbornly to Severus. “But once she did, you should have summoned me.”  
  
“Why?” Severus asked calmly. He thought that something other than the obvious was behind this outburst of Harry’s; he had seemed angry from the moment he had come down the stairs, before he could possibly have known how well he would handle the conversation with Colben. “Do you not trust us to entertain politicians without you? Even though you have confessed that sometimes we know more about politics than you do, having practiced it longer?”  
  
Harry’s face flushed, and for a long moment, he stood silently, as if fighting a torrent of words that wanted to burst out.  
  
“I would be interested in the answer to that question, too,” Draco said, stepping up beside Severus and frowning at Harry with narrow eyes. The bond between him and Severus rippled like fields of corn in the wind.  
  
Harry clenched his teeth, struggled for a moment more, and then burst out with the reason. Severus felt more than saw Draco’s smile. He had been sure that Harry would find it harder to resist an argument with him than with Severus, and he had been right.  
  
“I don’t want you _hurt_ , and almost everyone who’s been involved in our lives since we bonded has tried to hurt you somehow! The Minister tried to unpick the bond and endangered Draco’s life. Huxley’s almost killing me almost killed _you_. Those people who questioned us a few weeks ago could have become a mob with so little provocation.” Harry’s voice descended into an angry whisper, his eyes so sharp that Severus could also feel that like the strike of a sword through the bond. “And now that I’m in love with you, or as good as, is it so wrong that I feel bad about leaving you alone with Colben?”  
  
“But that still makes it seem that you don’t trust us,” Draco said, finding the words before Severus could try a more diplomatic answer. “Not to mention that you’re taking up that mantle of martyr again, thinking you need to shield us against all manner of things, even if you pay with your life.” He stepped towards Harry. “If they’re so dangerous for us to face, why is it such a good idea for you to face them?”  
  
Harry blinked and bowed his head the way Severus had when he heard the first of Harry’s conditions. Then he sighed and said, “I’m sorry.”  
  
Severus caught his mouth hanging open and closed it hastily. He had never expected to hear an apology so readily out of James Potter’s son. Harry gave him a sardonic glance, and then focused on Draco again.  
  
“I’ll try not to do that,” he said, struggling with the words as though they were Albus’s sherbet lemons. “It’s hard to overcome habit, though. And I do think that Severus should have woken me up.”  
  
“I will remember that in the future,” Severus said, glad that the argument had been averted so easily.   
  
Harry stepped up to Severus and touched his chin, running his fingers delicately up and down his jawline. “You’ve already lost so much and taken so many risks,” Harry whispered. “I don’t want you to be hurt again.”  
  
“But he will be,” Draco said. “And I will be, and so will you.” He moved up behind Harry and looped his arms around Harry’s waist. “So you’ll have to get used to the idea that all three of us protect each other.”  
  
Harry leaned up to kiss Severus, a kiss which Severus returned eagerly, and then leaned back so that his head fell on Draco’s shoulder and he could kiss him as well. “Thank you,” he said. “That helps. This all helps. I never thought I would feel—that I would have someone, or two people, as close as this—” He faltered and shut his eyes, shaking his head.  
  
The bonds blazed with shooting stars of all the emotions he had left unvoiced: worry, fear, pride, lust, and the love he had finally named.  
  
Severus leaned in for another kiss at the same time Draco did, so that they might show Harry he was not alone.


	28. Chapter 28

  
Draco came awake gasping, his hand planted across his stomach and his heart beating so fast that it gave him a headache. He scrambled up in the bed and stared around, trying to catch a glimpse of some danger that would justify his fear.  
  
He’d been in the middle of a blended dream, imagining all the things that Harry wasn’t yet comfortable with doing—  
  
And then he was awake, and the fear that danced around him was like the fear he had felt right before the Aurors attacked their house.  
  
Draco had no intention of ignoring the warning this time.  
  
He realized something was wrong when he turned his head, though. Harry and Severus had told him that the visions of the future had affected them, too; Harry had seen the walls of the house rippling and Severus had been the one to notice the phoenix on his arm burning with blue flame. Now, they both slept peacefully, Severus even snoring. Draco reached out and shook his shoulder.  
  
Severus opened his eyes, his brows drawing into a line as he surveyed Draco. He could feel his emotions through the bond well enough, of course, but Draco still received no share in them from Severus, only a pearl-like curiosity. “What is the matter, Draco?” he asked, his voice low and thick with sleep.  
  
“I don’t know.” Draco caught his breath in distress and bowed his head. “I woke up with this fear running through me, and I don’t know why.”  
  
Harry gulped and sat up on the other side of him, rising to his knees so that he could put his hands on Draco’s shoulders. Draco wished the tide of comfort flowing from Harry, warm and sweet as melted chocolate, could make him feel better, but his head still rang with fear and his eyes still flickered with shadows.  
  
Severus abruptly swore. Draco turned to look at him and saw him staring down. Draco looked in that direction.  
  
His own phoenix shone with the blue flame that had predicted the attack last night, but neither Harry’s nor Severus’s phoenixes did.  
  
“What is going on?” Harry asked the question with steel in his voice, leaning forwards over Draco’s shoulder so that he could see the phoenix better. The bond between him and Draco was alive with bright, swooping golden flecks like birds circling in agitation over the remnants of a destroyed nest. “And why don’t we feel it?”  
  
“I have read about this.” Severus was already rising and flicking his wand to Summon a robe from across the room. “The bond sometimes predicts danger to the mental and not the physical health of one of its members. In that case, only the member of the bond most directly affected will receive the warning.” He tugged the robe over his shoulders.  
  
Draco shook his head. “But that doesn’t make sense. What could affect me and not you? We’re all bound together.”  
  
Severus turned to him, anger and pity mingled in his face and flowing like a medicinal potion down the bond.   
  
“I fear that someone is attacking Malfoy Manor in hopes of harming Narcissa.”  
  
*  
  
Harry braced himself against the immediate tide of panic that flowed from Draco down the bond, and put his hands on Draco’s shoulders when he tried to leap out of the bed. Draco fought mindlessly, his arms lashing out and the bond dissolving into frothy waves. Harry turned him around and kissed him firmly.  
  
Draco stiffened in a spasm of rejection, then relaxed with a sigh. Harry drew back and spoke quietly. “We’re going to save your mother, Draco, be sure of that. But dashing out like this is just what our enemies want. It’ll make it easier for them to destroy us.” He looked briefly at Severus, but found nothing save approval in his face, which caused him to relax. He looked back at Draco and shook his head. “So we have to get ready and Apparate to the Manor right away, and we need to be ready to face them when we arrive.”  
  
“Use the phoenix again?” Draco’s voice was a bare whisper. He leaned forwards, burying his head against Harry’s chest.  
  
“Yes,” Harry said. “And I think we have a few minutes to open ourselves to it. You remember how the warning last time came before the attack, instead of as it happened? So I think this warning is coming before the attack on your mother. We’ll need to hurry, but it needs to be an _organized_ hurry.”  
  
Severus leaned in from the other side and laid his hands on Draco’s shoulders. “Harry is correct,” he said. “Let us proceed in such a fashion as our enemies will not suspect.” He smiled coldly. “Let us proceed in such a manner that we can destroy them completely.”  
  
Harry shot Severus a warning glance. _If we destroy them completely, then the Ministry might succeed in drumming up charges against us again.  
  
I do not care_ , Severus answered, his eyes bright with disgust and anger. _We have done enough to placate the Ministry, and still they continue to persecute us. This time, we must bring down the hammer of our magic on them, so that they will learn to fear us. Fear will teach them the lesson if respect cannot._  
  
Harry grimaced. He would need to be the steady rock for both of them, to ensure that they didn’t get out of control.  
  
Considering what had happened, though, he found it difficult to blame them. And it was not as though circumstances required him to take this role in the bond often.  
  
“Let’s open the bonds to their fullest extent now,” he said aloud, because Draco was probably too distressed to have noticed the mental conversation between him and Severus. “We need to be ready.” He Summoned his robe at the same time and stuffed his arms and legs into it. He didn’t want to be dressing at the most delicate moment, which would come only when the bonds were fully open.  
  
Severus nodded, and then the tide of emotions flowing from him grew stronger. Draco reacted at the same moment. Harry gasped, the surge and dazzle of colors and sensations almost overwhelming him.  
  
Draco and Severus dived past him, moving like radiant shadows in the bonds, each of them trying to take up part of the phoenix. Harry let them, and waited for the time when the bonds were open to their fullest extent, pouring life and sweetness through him. He braced himself against the flood, because he had to. If he lost himself now, and let either Draco or Severus, vengeful and impatient, take control…  
  
He was afraid of what kind of curses would appear beside their names and photographs in the paper tomorrow.  
  
He felt the moment when they hovered between each other, cloaked in soft warmth that grew hotter and hotter like flaming feathers, and the phoenix was beginning to rise above them.  
  
 _Now._  
  
Harry gathered up the reins of control the way that he remembered Draco doing so when they became the phoenix to fight the Aurors. He tucked them under his wings and through his claws, threading them tightly. Then he rose and extended his awareness into the sky above them and through the walls, looking for other traps. He wouldn’t put it past the Aurors to attack their house at the same time as the Manor.  
  
There were no enemies hiding outside in the streets, however, and no dark shadows of hostility watching them through the windows of Hogsmeade. Harry relaxed and turned to deal with the complaints from his bondmates, which boiled up and down in the back of his mind like jumping fleas.  
  
 _You can’t do this_ , Draco said.  
  
 _The power we wield is worth nothing unless we all agree to share it_ , Severus snapped.  
  
 _That’s not true_ , Harry replied calmly. _We didn’t agree to what Draco did last time, but we knew it was the best decision he could have made as soon as he made it. And I wouldn’t agree to you trying to use our magic against anyone who’s already at Malfoy Manor. I would shut the bonds, and you wouldn’t be able to fight if you only had your power_. He flicked his attention back and forth between Severus and Draco, to make it clear that he was addressing them equally. _I won’t have you killing people.  
  
My mother is in danger_! The red flag of Draco’s terror blazed across Harry’s mind. _I have to do something to help her—  
  
Because murdering people and getting taken for a murderer yourself always helps_ , Harry said dryly.  
  
 _I didn’t mean it like that—  
  
I agree that we must do something_ , Severus said, his voice bubbling and snarling. A wild ripple of power ran through their shared magic that felt a lot like Severus trying to snatch back control. _The Ministry has gone free too long for attacking us. Shacklebolt has made promises and has not kept them—  
  
And if it’s not the Ministry?_  
  
The possibility shut them both up for long enough that Harry could figure out how to manipulate their bodies. They would stand and react like automatons if Harry tugged on the reins of power in a particular way. He was satisfied. They would actually have to Apparate to Malfoy Manor and join in the forming battle, rather than waiting in the safety of their house the way they had last time.  
  
 _I don’t like this_ , Draco fussed.  
  
 _I don’t like this, either_ , Harry snapped, having to split his attention three ways: to controlling their bodies, to controlling the swells of power that disturbed the outer edge of the enormous phoenix, and to arguing with his bondmates. _But we don’t have a better choice.  
  
To kill them—  
  
That won’t fucking_ solve _anything_! Harry roared, and heard echoes of a distant shriek. Their neighbors would be getting out of bed now, he knew, and suffered a brief moment of doubt. Were they really doing what their enemies wanted them to? What if the attack on Draco’s mother was a trap to lure them in and make them behave just like this, so that their enemies would have an excuse to tell the public they were dangerous?   
  
Severus said that could not be so, because they had been sent no warning of Narcissa’s danger. Their enemies could not know that the bond would predict it for them, and could not know that they would appear until after the attack was over.   
  
Harry nodded and then leaped into the air. It was the oddest sensation he had suffered so far in trying to guide the compound phoenix along. Their bodies were walking, drawing wands, ready to Apparate, but at the same time he could sense wings beating, claws folding up under a feathered breast for a long flight, a tail spreading so that it could help to direct the bird against the wind. He tumbled and turned, and Draco fell silent with a yelp, as though he had figured out his own internal resistance was doing little to help the phoenix fly. Harry bent his head, flattened his crest, and went to work with a will.  
  
The darkness of Apparition gripped them and squeezed them contemptuously. When they came out of it, they were hovering above the grounds of Malfoy Manor, their bodies minute specks near the gates below. Draco had been able to bring them here—the knowledge that flowed through his head was Harry and Severus’s knowledge while they shared like this—but not inside the wards.  
  
Draco whistled a shrill warning, which emerged from the phoenix’s beak as a hiss. Harry didn’t think that mattered, though he felt Severus’s nervous agitation, like scalded water, that they had alerted their enemies; surely the sight of a giant hovering bird was more than enough to alert them. Harry looked where Draco directed, and saw seven people sneaking towards the gates, draped in heavy grey cloaks.  
  
 _Those look like the cloaks the Aurors wore_ , Draco said, wariness and triumph surging around his words. In another moment, the bond between him and Harry twisted as he tried to seize control again.  
  
 _The Aurors wore black cloaks_ , Harry said, and directed them into a dive. Draco winced in surprise and started paying attention to the real threats, thank Merlin, instead of insisting that he had to be the leader.  
  
The people who had done the creeping whirled around and stared upwards. When one of them tried to yell a warning, a second interrupted with advice, and a third broke and started fleeing. Harry experienced a moment of Severus-flavored smugness that they obviously weren’t a united army, with discipline that would hold them together in the face of a threat.  
  
 _That increases the likelihood that they aren’t Aurors_ , he tossed into Severus’s face, and then they were in the middle of the battle.  
  
It was always a strange thing, trying to describe it afterwards. Harry never managed to give Ron and Hermione a successful picture, and he had no need to try with Draco and Severus because they had been _there_. But his mind split. He could feel Draco and Severus with him; he could feel the wind rushing past his feathers, though technically he thought his feathers didn’t exist; he could feel his iron-hard determination to make sure that none of the attackers were done permanent harm.  
  
He could feel the grass crushed beneath his feet as he drew his wand and ran at the attackers in his own body. The last remnants of sleep blew away from his eyes and mind. He was alert, countering a hex that splintered the air in front of him and dropping to one knee to raise his Shield Charm.  
  
Draco was beside him, screaming constantly and wishing desperately that there was some way he could be sure of his mother’s safety before he fought. He focused solely on offensive magic at first, but a wayward curse from the other side, cast with more luck than skill, stung him and burned his foot. After that, he made sure he was ready to raise shields and temporary wards before he burned and stung back.  
  
Severus dropped behind his bondmates because he did not wish to match their speed, rather than because he couldn’t. He would be the silent source of strength to them, the unnoticed defender. He cast a shield around Draco and then countered a jinx flying his way with a burst of sparking lights that dazed the man opposite him, burned off half his hair, and sent the wizard away howling.  
  
Harry coiled the immense power of the phoenix in its claws and struggled fiercely to contain it. Severus and Draco wanted to use that power to hurt the attackers, to force them to their knees and then rip their heads off. Harry handed them a different task instead, one that would require them to use finesse: rip the attackers’ cloaks off and reveal their faces.  
  
Severus and Draco’s interest flowed into that project after a moment, and then Harry found it easy to reach out with small, sharp-edged winds and shred the cloaks without ever touching the flesh beneath them.  
  
The wizards squawked as the open air blew across their faces, and two more of them broke and ran. They were unexceptional, and Harry didn’t bother trying to memorize their features. He was more interested in the face of the tall figure who stood at the center of the chaos and yelled, trying futilely to force her people to come back and face down their enemy.  
  
Huxley.  
  
Harry raged with Draco’s hunger for vengeance and Severus’s cold fury for a moment. If they had killed Huxley during one of the other times they confronted her, this could never have happened. Narcissa Malfoy would never have been in danger, and Draco’s home would never have been in danger of wrecking. The wizards’ spells had pounded on the gates, and that was an insult. Someone had to pay for this.  
  
Harry rolled over twice and dived neatly through the middle of their anger, his wings spread wide and his flames burning so fiercely that they had to listen to him. _It won’t make any difference if we kill her now! The gates are already damaged, and they didn’t break through the wards, so we know that your mother isn’t injured. But if we kill her, how many people do you think we’ll find who are willing to listen to our side of the story?_  
  
Severus flipped back to sanity when he heard that last remark and joined Harry in restraining Draco, though he snarled and spat and struggled against them. _Someone has to avenge this insult_! he cried, when he realized that his strength was inadequate to resist his bondmates. _It can’t be allowed to stand!  
  
We should worry about the future before the past_ , Harry said, and then willed two glittering ropes of light to spring out and surround Huxley, just in case she got the idea to Apparate before they could question her. He was not sure if the ropes came from their wands or from the phoenix’s claws, and he didn’t care.   
  
Most of her companions had fled already, except for one witch the spells had knocked out who was lying senseless on the ground. Huxley stood in the middle of the ropes with her head high and her mouth firmly set. Harry had the impression that she was trying to contain despair.  
  
 _Good. She deserves at least that much after what she did to us._  
  
Harry had the phoenix land on the grass in front of her and lower its head delicately, until the great beak hovered a few inches above her eye. Huxley finally showed some sign of fear, flinching and looking down. But she otherwise didn’t turn away, and Harry’s contempt of her grew. She wasn’t courageous, the way he saw it. She was proud of the evil things he had done, and that took all virtue away from her.  
  
Then light blazed from the Manor, and Narcissa Malfoy was visible in the front door, surrounded by house-elves, though Harry continued to look directly at Huxley. More than one pair of eyes would give that odd vision, Severus thought. Harry acknowledged it and told Draco to reply to his mother, because he would be the one who could best reassure her that nothing harmful to her son or her property had happened.  
  
“Hullo, Mother,” Draco said, his voice calmer than Harry knew he would have managed under the circumstances. Severus reminded him, in a waterfall of soothing, that Draco and Severus would have been calmer if it had been the Weasleys or others of Harry’s friends who were attacked, and so they would have managed to play the role of holding Harry back. Harry had done well _because_ his personal feelings were not engaged, and he should not compare himself to Draco, who had years of training on how to remain composed in public. Harry relaxed. The entire exchange had taken less than a moment, because Draco was still speaking. “A minor misunderstanding with someone who believed that she had the right to punish you because she could not punish us.”  
  
Narcissa walked slowly across the lawn. Thanks to Draco’s eyes and Draco’s knowledge of her, Harry knew that a slight tremor marred the way her hands gripped her wand and that that was not usual. But her face was otherwise perfectly calm and cold, and she eyed Huxley with the distant curiosity that she might give to a harmless bug on the dinner table that had escaped the house-elves. “Ah,” said Narcissa after a moment, her voice distant and reserved, familiar and loved. “That would be Griselda Huxley.”  
  
“Yes, it is,” Severus’s voice said. Huxley tensed where she had ignored Narcissa. Harry kept his attention on the ropes around her; he expected their prisoner to try and break free at any moment. “I am sorry to have disturbed you at this time of night. We would have avoided it if we could have.”  
  
Harry twitched his head in wonder and admiration. This was the way of the pure-bloods, then: to pretend that nothing was wrong, that grave danger was an inconvenience. He reckoned there were no people in the world who liked understatement more.  
  
 _Of course not_ , Draco snapped at him.  
  
“Do not apologize. I would much rather suffer a disturbance in the night than damage to my home.” Narcissa stepped forwards and considered the gates as if they were the only things that mattered. “Luckily,” she murmured, “I know many spells that can repair metal, and few that can repair marble.” She nodded to two of the house-elves that had followed her, and they immediately squeaked and surrounded the gates, attending to them.  
  
Harry blinked. She knew the spells, but set the house-elves to work?  
  
 _A house-elf’s knowledge is considered to belong to the wizard who owns it_ , Draco said impatiently, and spoke to his mother again. “You’re all right?”  
  
“How should I not be all right, Draco, when none of the spells pierced the barrier of the wards?” Narcissa’s voice was mild, but Harry could feel the heat when Draco flushed. His mother stepped through the gates and peered at Huxley from close up. After a moment, she shook her head. “So small a thing to have caused so much trouble.”  
  
Huxley tensed, and then brought her wand up and tried to cast a Burning Curse at Narcissa.  
  
Harry tightened the ropes with a snake of his long neck, and Huxley cried out as her wand burned straight through and fell in ashes from her hand. Harry filled with gloating and worry both at once. It would have been easier for them to make a case that they had not harmed Huxley if they had not accidentally burned her wand.  
  
On the other hand, Huxley had no witnesses but herself, since her single companion left was still insensible. If Shacklebolt refused to accept the word of four of them against one, that only proved his corruption.  
  
“No more of that from you, _if_ you please,” Narcissa said sharply. “You have interrupted my rest quite enough.” She turned away from Huxley as if she had ceased to matter and faced Harry’s body. “How did you hear of this in time to rescue me, Mr. Potter?”  
  
Harry wasn’t sure why she wanted an answer from him instead of her son, but both Severus and Draco retorted that she wanted to see how much all three of them were in accord. Harry smiled as he answered. Narcissa would find no gaps between them that she could exploit to embarrass Draco. “The bond grants us certain special abilities. And once we realized that the warning pointed us here and indicated that Huxley was the culprit, of course we had to come.” He shrugged modestly and tried an understatement of his own. “We couldn’t let you face the damage to your property alone. I’m only grateful that it was no worse.”  
  
 _That has several lies in it_ , Severus murmured. _I am impressed.  
  
I couldn’t have our enemies knowing exactly how we figured out what was wrong_ , Harry said, tilting his head at the watching Huxley.  
  
 _No, that was wise_ , Draco said, sounding calmer by the second. _Look at her_. He snickered. Harry looked through the eyes of the phoenix and found Huxley staring at them with a pale face and trembling lower lip. _She really thinks that we can foresee her exact movements somehow._  
  
“A useful thing to have,” said Narcissa. “And I thank you for your noble intentions.” She faced Huxley again. “Why attack me? I know that we have never had anything to do with each other. I would have remembered—you.” The pause in her words implied all sorts of insults.  
  
Huxley ignored that, leaning forwards to stare at Narcissa with burning eyes. “Death Eaters deserve to be driven to death,” she whispered. “If the Ministry will not do its part and condemn you and people like you to Azkaban, then I will have to do it for them.” She cast a scornful glance at them, though Harry was so mingled at that point that he couldn’t tell if it was at only Draco and Severus or not. “And their worst crime is corrupting the Boy-Who-Lived, who ought to hate them.”  
  
“A most unreasonable motivation for attempting to harm me,” Narcissa said, folding her hands in front of her. “I have never killed a single person in the Dark Lord’s service. Nor has my son.”  
  
Huxley laughed, and the laugh was wild around the edges. Her calm was starting to deteriorate, Harry saw, which he hoped was a good sign. She had already said more than enough for a sane Minister to condemn her, but since Kingsley was so panicky where Huxley was concerned, it was good to have additional evidence. “Why should I believe you? Even if I did, what would spare _him_?” This time, Harry was sure that her look had been meant to spear Severus. Severus’s boredom snaked through the bonds. He would infinitely have preferred time alone in bed and dreaming their blended dreams to this.  
  
“Believe us or not, as you please,” said Narcissa. “But you are a vigilante, taking the law into your hands when the Ministry has decreed that we may go free.” She shrugged. “I doubt they will look kindly on that.”  
  
Huxley chuckled sharply. “Minister Shacklebolt is the most powerful person in the Ministry, and he doesn’t dare oppose me. He knows at the bottom of his heart what is right, even if political considerations prevent him from expressing that opinion aloud.” She pointed her nose up at a sharp angle and closed her eyes in a ridiculous manner that she probably imagined showed nobility.  
  
*  
  
Severus slid into the woman’s mind in that crucial moment before she closed her eyes, when thoughts of the hold that she had on Shacklebolt were uppermost. He doubted that Shacklebolt or Huxley would ever tell them of the secrets that compelled the Minister to act like an idiot around her, and they had to know.  
  
Harry’s surprise washed over him. It felt as if Harry stood at the apex of a triangle, tied to Severus and Draco with sharp cords that tugged on them every time he moved. Severus found it less comfortable than Draco’s leadership, but he was well aware that part of that came from his struggle against it at first.  
  
At least Harry did not actively oppose his use of Legilimency. And Severus sent back a current of cool reassurance as he moved. He did not think that Huxley knew he was a Legilimens, and he would be subtle enough that a crude mind like hers could never realize he had touched her thoughts.  
  
A memory unfolded around him with clarity and precision that made Severus rethink the crudity of Huxley’s mind. On the other hand, it was indeed her uppermost thought, so that might be the reason for the clarity.  
  
Shacklebolt was fighting a wizard that Severus found it hard to see on a street in Hogsmeade, while Huxley stood enthralled in a doorway not far away. Shacklebolt used a flurry of spells, some of them curses which made Severus raise his brows in respect and which should have downed most enemies immediately. But this opponent laughed and continued forcing his way forwards. From his height and the black cloak he wore, Severus reckoned that he was a Death Eater named Malcom Parewell, who had vanished on a mission for the Dark Lord years ago. Probably he was about to learn what had happened to him.  
  
Shacklebolt closed his eyes in despair, and then aimed his wand and yelled out, “ _Avada Kedavra_!” with the desperation of someone who didn’t expect even that to work.  
  
Of course it worked. There was no block for the Killing Curse except the one that Lily had accidentally discovered, and if anyone had ever sacrificed themselves for love of Parewell, Severus would have died of shock. In the memory, it was Parewell who died, slumping to the ground the moment the green beam of light touched him.  
  
Shacklebolt stared at him for long moments, his breath rushing in anger and fear. Then he edged forwards, wand at the ready, and cast a Slicing Curse directly into the body. Parewell’s arm fell off, and blood flowed out, but he didn’t move. Shacklebolt closed his eyes in relief and turned around.  
  
Huxley stepped out of the doorway that had sheltered her and smiled sweetly at him.  
  
Severus slithered out and into his head and the bonds again in the moment before Huxley could shut her eyes. _Shacklebolt used an Unforgivable in front of her_ , he confirmed to Draco and Harry. _That is why she has such a hold over him. He would go to Azkaban at once, especially since the Aurors are specifically forbidden to use Unforgivable Curses.  
  
Is that all_? Draco asked in disappointment. _I thought it would be something more personally devastating_.  
  
But Harry was silent and thoughtful, and Severus knew that he understood the political consequences better. Draco had cast the Unforgivables more often than Harry, and might be more dulled to their impact. The public, however, would go mad at hearing that their beloved Minister had used them, even if it was before he had taken office and against a Death Eater.  
  
“We’re going to let the Ministry decide what to do with you, Huxley.” Harry made his voice cold and simple. “The Ministry is more than one person, and not all of them feel about me—or about Death Eaters—as you do.”  
  
Huxley opened her eyes and gazed at them with the bright, clear pity of a fanatic. “You feel that way,” she whispered. “All of you, because you have an inborn sense of what is right. You simply won’t allow the feelings to rise to the surface of your minds, because that would disrupt your lives too much.”  
  
Harry turned to Narcissa without consulting Huxley further, which Severus thought sensible. “May we depend on you as a witness to what she was trying to do?” he asked, with such an extreme formality of tone that Severus could have laughed. Of course, Harry was probably trying to show Draco that he _did_ care about the safety and comfort of his mother—just not enough to let Draco kill people indiscriminately.  
  
Harry acknowledged a moment later that that was exactly what he was doing. Draco snapped that he didn’t need to be coddled like a child, and Harry sent an image of pinching his cheeks. Severus laughed at both of them.  
  
One of the hardest things to get used to when the bonds joined them like this was the sheer _speed_ of their thoughts. They had exchanged all that information and the corresponding emotions before Narcissa replied, though she was not slow in reacting to Harry’s question.  
  
“Of course you may,” she said, her voice low and strong. She looked at Huxley in a way that made even that idiot woman falter, and then turned to Harry. Severus wondered idly how she would react if she realized that she might as well speak to any of the three of them, and was hit from two sides, with Harry’s amusement and with Draco’s proud defense of his mother’s flexibility. “In fact, might I suggest that we go to the Minister now, and catch him off-guard, rather than wait for him to react?”  
  
“That’s an excellent idea,” Severus said, causing Narcissa to glance at him. He wondered if she was more surprised that he had spoken when she had addressed Harry, or that his voice might sound a bit like Harry’s at the moment. Draco snapped that she knew the difference, and then turned away to chase the sound of Harry’s laughter again. “Shacklebolt is poor with surprises. While I do not truly believe that he had any involvement in this attack, or Huxley would have bragged about it, it is for the best if we force this surprise onto him rather than allowing her side to do so.”  
  
“I do not need the protection of the Minister,” Huxley said in a spectacularly nasal tone.  
  
“You were bragging that you had it just a minute ago,” Draco muttered. Severus could feel Draco’s fingers digging into the wood of the wand, and sent a soothing thought to him. Harry muttered back, and distracted Draco enough that Severus could give a civil answer to the infuriating woman.  
  
“All of us need the protection of the laws of the society in which we live,” he intoned solemnly. “There is no higher authority than law, don’t you agree?”  
  
Huxley stared at him warily for a moment, then snorted. “A Death Eater can only mouth the words. If law was the authority that you proclaim it to be, then you would have been tried and sent to Azkaban the way you should have been.”  
  
“There are laws against attempted murder and against the damage of property,” said Draco, who seemed to have regained his mental balance, much to Severus’s relief. He stepped forwards and looked at Huxley without so much dangerous passion, now, and his wand was safely behind his back. Indeed, the expression on his face was more pitying than anything else. “You haven’t obeyed them.”  
  
“When the law breaks down and the Wizengamot refuses to do what it should,” Huxley began, which sounded like it would be the start of a long speech.  
  
Narcissa cast a Silencing Charm at her and then bound the witch who still lay unconscious on the ground with _Incarcerous_. “I find that I tire of listening to her chatter,” she explained to Draco and Harry, who blinked at her. “And she will have plenty of chances to speak when we are in front of the Minister. Shall we go?”  
  
*  
  
Shacklebolt rose to his feet when he saw them, his face strained. He had been working late in his office, which disappointed Draco a bit. It would have been only repayment for the trouble Huxley had caused them if they’d had to wake him up at home and drag him to the Ministry. At least the several empty teacups that littered his desk said that he’d been struggling hard to stay awake.  
  
“And the Aurors simply let you through, did they?” he asked, with resignation that irritated Draco. To listen to Shacklebolt, you would think that he was the only one who had ever had to deal with problems of this kind.  
  
Harry brushed against his mind, a touch like soft flame. They had dropped that extreme closeness of the bonds they’d used to fight Huxley and her people when they came to the Ministry—if a spell here detected that and figured out how it worked, one of their advantages would be gone—but Draco’s mind still felt more sensitive to the emotions and the thoughts of his bondmates than usual. Harry spoke more clearly in his head than if he had risked the words to his lips. _He’s refused, several times, to see that it was more dangerous to all of us to have Huxley roaming free than to arrest her, since she has more chances to be an embarrassment to him. Of course he doesn’t think of this the same way we do._  
  
Draco turned his head away, both mentally and physically, and smiled grimly at Shacklebolt. “Once they realized who Harry was and that we had someone with us who had tried to kill him multiple times? Yes.” He turned his head back over his shoulder, and Severus and his mother came in with Huxley and her accomplice floating bound behind them.  
  
It was instructive to watch the way Shacklebolt’s face drained of both color and animation. He stepped around the desk at once, as if he would go up to Huxley and untie the ropes, then stopped, his fingers twitching. His voice was brittle as he said, “I have told you that I can do nothing against her.”  
  
“You can,” said Severus, and stepped around Huxley so that she could not read the movement of his lips; she had a charm that muffled her hearing on her ears. Perhaps he also wanted to conceal the information from Narcissa. Draco would not be surprised if that was the case. It sometimes seemed to him that he was the only one who trusted his mother the way she should be trusted. “We know the secret as well, Minister. We know about the Unforgivable.”  
  
Shacklebolt stiffened. The next moment, an expression of perfect despair crossed his face, and he bowed his head, which had the effect of muffling his voice. “How can I do anything? I am caught between you and her.”  
  
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you took up political power and found yourself vulnerable to her machinations,” Severus said, without sympathy. Draco was glad that he was the one speaking. Harry looked so distressed that he might have tried to arrange a bargain with Shacklebolt. It was clear by now that the Minister would never hold to a bargain. “You will arrest her and take our testimony for her having acted with complete fanaticism and irrationality rather than personal principle when she attacked our home and Malfoy Manor. Or your secret will emerge in any case.”  
  
Shacklebolt laughed. “And why should I do what you want? Either way, my secret is going to come out. Huxley will talk about it if I try her in front of the Wizengamot, and you’ll talk about it if I don’t.”  
  
Draco sighed in disgust. Harry looked more distressed than ever at that, which wasn’t a good sign, and even Severus frowned, the bond between them churning with the kind of muddy bubbles that Draco knew he sent up when he was baffled. The solution was very simple, but it looked as if he would have to be the one to offer it.  
  
“Sir,” he said calmly, masking all the less complimentary things that he could have called Shacklebolt in the back of his mind, “why should you try her in front of the Wizengamot? She’s committed multiple crimes now. You’re justified in saying that you wanted to give her another chance to prove herself law-abiding, especially since she rescued so many people during the war, but now you’ve decided to give up on her. Let one of the smaller courts try her. She doesn’t deserve the dignity of a full trial before the Wizengamot. In fact, you shouldn’t give her that, since it would only fuel her drive for notoriety.”  
  
Huxley was looking from one to the other of them as if she were trying to figure out what they were talking about. Draco didn’t think she had a clue about it unless she also happened to be an expert lip-reader. Her companion stared at the floor and didn’t try to add anything to the defense.  
  
“Her drive for notoriety,” Shacklebolt said, frowning. Harry and Severus both returned smooth flows of puzzlement to Draco.  
  
He sighed again and began. “Obviously, the reason that she attacked Harry, and kept attacking him, was to get her name out there. Few people have talked about her since the war as often as they’ve talked about Harry.” He hadn’t done research to be sure of that, but it was a safe bet, since the _Daily Prophet_ had a story about Harry almost every day and Draco hadn’t seen one about Huxley in the last six months. “If we give her lots of attention and a Wizengamot trial, that will only encourage her to do something _else_ , to keep her name in the papers. On the other hand, doing it in a quiet, small fashion won’t give her what she wants.” He glanced sideways and sneered when he saw Huxley frowning at him. _Does she think I care about her for any reason than because she has forced me to? Does she think she can threaten me_? “That should be obvious.”  
  
“If she talks about my secret to someone other than the Wizengamot, the rumors will eventually reach them,” said Shacklebolt. He looked both hopeful and cautious.  
  
“And why should anyone pay attention to the word of a madwoman?” That was his mother’s voice, light and cool. They might have been in the middle of one of the drawing rooms where Narcissa went to speak with her friends, Draco thought as he turned to regard her with pride, for all the difference that she let the situation make to her.   
  
“A madwoman,” Shacklebolt repeated slowly, but this time his eyes had a gleam that meant Draco did not have to despair of his intelligence. Even better, comprehension rushed through the bonds that tied him to Harry and Severus, fire on one side, suddenly transparent ice on the other. That would save him tedious explanations later, Draco thought, and fell back to the side so that his mother would have an unimpeded view of Shacklebolt, and vice versa.  
  
“Yes.” Narcissa gave a shrug of her shoulders and a dismissive flick of her fingers that Draco thrilled to and loved her for. “Surely only a madwoman would attack a warded Manor, or cast a Gut Chewing Curse on the Boy-Who-Lived in public, or later try to attack their house in Hogsmeade. Surely only a madwoman could be worsted in battle and in public argument and still try to come back. Surely only a madwoman would claim to support the Ministry and yet refuse to accept its pardons, given to the two former Death Eaters bonded to the Chosen One.” Narcissa lifted her lip and glanced over her shoulder at Huxley. “Spread the right kind of rumors before she starts speaking, and I do not think that you have much to worry about.”  
  
Shacklebolt laughed quietly. “I think you are not as dead-set against me as I believed,” he said, with an almost fond look around the room.  
  
Harry didn’t smile back at him. “If you don’t do this, if you attempt to release Huxley on a technicality again or claim that there would be some sort of public panic if she were arrested—”  
  
“I have tired of the excuses I had to make as well,” Shacklebolt said at once. “You’ve relieved me of a problem that I had grown increasingly unsure how to handle. _This_ is the best way to handle it.” He stepped up next to Huxley and put a hand on the ropes that held her. She glared at him, obviously understanding that this wasn’t going to go well. “And the woman with her?”  
  
“An accomplice in the attack on my home.” Narcissa gave another perfect shrug. “Ask her what you will.”  
  
After that, everything was over but the cordialities. Shacklebolt called in some Aurors he presumably trusted and gave them brisk orders about the handling of Huxley and her accomplice. The other witch’s head drooped further as they dragged her off to a holding cell. Draco really couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry.  
  
Draco had sensed a thick green emotion traveling beneath the surface of Harry’s mind as they walked out of the office, but not until they had left the Ministry entirely did Harry speak to him. _I’m sorry for holding you back so strongly when you wanted to kill Huxley. I would have wanted to kill her if she threatened the Weasleys._  
  
Draco took a deep breath, aware of Severus watching them through the bonds, waiting for the resolution of this conflict. _You were right_ , he said with some difficulty. _I would have made things worse if I’d killed her. For one thing, her followers and the Ministry could have accused me of murder then, which was never true before._  
  
Harry reached out and touched the back of his neck, while the bond between them swirled with blue and gold. Then Severus’s hand covered Harry’s.  
  
Draco, because he could not stand anyone to be left out in this moment of supreme contentment, reached out and found his mother’s fingers. She squeezed his hand lightly, once, and together they marched out of the Ministry and away from one problem resolved permanently.


	29. Chapter 29

  
“I have not yet thanked you for helping to save my life, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry turned around, blinking uncertainly. Narcissa had come back to their house with them last night so that she could sleep in safety; she had said that Huxley and her compatriots could have left some traps around the fence and the Manor that she hadn’t sensed. Harry thought they had arrived too early for that to be true, but he was hardly going to refuse Draco’s mother anything. She seemed to know about them now and accept it.  
  
Now, as she stood in the doorway of the kitchen between Harry and escape, he started wondering if she’d had another reason to come here.  
  
“Er, you’re welcome, Mrs. Malfoy.” Harry shifted from one foot to the other, wondering what graceful and eloquent things he could say. Wondering what she _wanted_ from him. He didn’t think it was just to make threats that she would hurt him if he ever hurt Draco. Surely that was understood with a family like the Malfoys.  
  
 _Do you wish me to descend_? Severus was still in bed, but Draco had gone out into the garden to examine the Potions ingredients and see how well they were growing. It made sense that Severus had sensed Harry’s distress first. Now he offered a mental image of a hand reaching out to clasp Harry’s. Harry squeezed back and gave an inwards wry smile as he watched Narcissa’s face. She was observing him with a meditative expression, which might mean any number of things. Harry had realized lately how limiting he found it, that he couldn’t read the emotions of others the way he could with Draco and Severus.   
  
Not that he would _want_ to read anyone else’s emotions, but it would have been convenient in cases like this, where he really wasn’t sure what someone else thought of him.   
  
_No_ , he told Severus at last. _I don’t think it’s threats. I just wish I knew what it was.  
  
It may be nothing more than sincere thanks._  
  
Harry snorted back, and received Severus’s wry, dark acknowledgment that it wasn’t likely.  
  
“You did not need to do that,” Narcissa Malfoy said, turning her neck slightly so that she could get a better look at Harry from the side. Harry was reminded of a snake and the way it would twist around to look at things from different angles. “You could have stayed here and not lent your strength to Draco. It was his fight, and mine, not yours.”  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes, and his hope that she understood something of the nature of bonds, because she was a pure-blood, burned away in the fires of his indignation. “Of course I couldn’t,” he snapped. “Severus couldn’t have, either. Why in the world would you think that? We’re Draco’s bondmates. His sufferings and his struggles are ours.”  
  
The front door rattled, and Harry knew that Draco had come in and might be listening to the conversation. He didn’t care if he was. The important thing was that Harry felt this way, and would declare it, regardless of who was listening at the moment.   
  
Narcissa gave him a tiny smile. “You despised my son only a year ago, Mr. Potter. There is no need to lie to me. I know that working yourself into the bond with him and learning how to cooperate with his desires must have been a chore.”  
  
“No more tedious than the ones that Severus and Draco had to perform when I was being stubborn.” Harry folded his arms and glared at her. “If you want me to say that I despise Draco still, it won’t work. I love him. Maybe not in the way I eventually will as the bond grows even tighter, but I don’t sleep with people I don’t love.”  
  
Draco made a choking noise in his head. Severus laughed softly. _I believe that Draco is perhaps a bit embarrassed discussing his sex life in front of his mother.  
  
She was the one who was pressing me to admit something that wasn’t true, and that only truth could counter_ , Harry said, heartily sick of the way that people always seemed to be giving him contradictory advice.  
  
Narcissa’s smile widened. She reached out, and Harry realized after a moment that she wanted to shake his hand. He clasped her fingers hesitantly, staring into her eyes. He wasn’t sure about what she might do if she grew irritated with him from now on, and Severus’s paranoia and Draco’s nervousness had him thinking about potions that she might have smeared on her skin to compel his obedience.  
  
 _My mother probably wouldn’t do that_ , Draco objected.  
  
“I feared for Draco at first,” Narcissa said quietly. “His life was not his own, and I did not envision him having lovers—male lovers, much less—or living in a small house at Hogsmeade. I thought a brilliant Ministry career and a brilliant marriage more his destiny.”  
  
Harry stifled his immediate angry reaction at the notion of Draco living with or marrying someone else and tried to look attentive. Of course, Draco and Severus had felt that reaction. Severus remained silent, but Draco gave a soft purring noise and sent the sensation of a hand rubbing Harry’s forehead. _You please me._  
  
“He seemed unhappy for most of his first months under the bond,” Narcissa continued blandly, not seeming to realize how thoroughly she had offended Harry, and, to a certain extent, Severus. “I pictured that continuing for the rest of his life, I have always had a problem not extending the circumstances of the present moment into the future and imagining they will always be that way. It is my greatest political fault.”  
  
 _It is, you know_ , Draco and Severus said at the same time.  
  
“Now I can see that he is happy, and that others are happy to be with him.” Narcissa nodded to Harry. “It is a different destiny than the one I envisioned for him, but not a lesser. Thank you for the part you have played in it.”  
  
She stepped out of the kitchen, moving as lightly as a ghost, and left Harry to blink and wonder whether that had really happened.  
  
 _It did_. Draco stepped smugly into the kitchen and preened at him. Harry rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that,” Draco added aloud. The bond from him thrummed with colors that Harry hadn’t seen lately: yellow and brilliant blue, the colors of a carefree summer day that Draco was enjoying. “It’s not everyone that she accepts, especially after having such a negative opinion of them at first. You should feel honored that she chose to accept you and to let you know that she did so.”  
  
“I feel _nervous_ ,” Harry told him flatly. “I don’t understand the rules she operates by, and I don’t know what she’s going to do next. Protecting her life is one thing, but I wouldn’t want to attend a party she’s hosting.”  
  
Draco said nothing, but the sudden frozen glitter of his eyes told Harry that he was probably going to try and ensure that they attended a party soon. Harry groaned mentally.  
  
 _You should not have challenged him so_ , Severus said without sympathy. _Neither of you could ever refuse a challenge from the other. You should know this about Draco by now._  
  
Harry ran a hand through his hair and turned back to getting breakfast. That had been what he originally came into the kitchen to do, after all, instead of getting thanked and told he should feel honored and arguing with his bondmates.  
  
Draco’s arms encircled his waist suddenly, and Draco kissed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” he whispered. “I am glad that you said you love me in front of someone else.” He was silent for long moments, hands rubbing up and down Harry’s sides.  
  
“You don’t need to say it back.” Harry glanced over his shoulder in annoyance, wondering if that was all Draco wanted. “I don’t require return for return like a pure-blood.” _Or a Slytherin_ , he thought, not caring much at the moment if his thought reached either of his bondmates or not.  
  
“I want to say it because I want to say it,” Draco said, “and because I feel just as good as you do when you’re pleased. But for right now, we don’t have the appropriate audience.” He kissed Harry’s cheek and stepped away from him. “Trust me to find the time and the moment when it becomes appropriate.”  
  
Harry nodded in surprise and gratitude, and then reached again for the toast. Draco whisked it away from him and nodded towards the table. “Sit down for once. I’ll get you the toast and the tea, and if I get anything wrong, feel free to scold me.”  
  
“How can I resist an offer like that?” Harry asked, settling into the chair while Severus hummed sleepy pleasure at them from above.  
  
*  
  
Swanfair was unhappy.  
  
Severus sensed it first when he watched her watching Colben, who was giving another speech, this time to a crowd in Diagon Alley. Most members of the crowd had started out hostile, with narrowed eyes and a tendency to have their hands on their wands that Severus disliked, but most of those had been won now, as Colben led them gracefully through what they wanted to hear, now and then making promises on the reasonable matters, ignoring the stupid questions, using a mixture of pretty words and common sense that would appeal to many of those who could be persuaded to vote for her in any case.  
  
Swanfair sat beside Harry on the stage. For most of the speech, she’d kept her attention on her protégé, and Severus had disregarded her as a threat. He saw her from the corner of his eye when she suddenly sat straight up and frowned.  
  
Severus listened to the speech. Colben was saying nothing unusual, only that she would attempt to balance both pure-bloods and Muggleborns in her appointments. Yet Swanfair watched her with narrowed eyes, and seemed to grow more tense the more Colben clarified her position and said that she would let neither group take over the Ministry. That was only intelligent, in Severus’s opinion. Even if Colben had intended to throw her support more on one side than on the other, she would not have said so while she was still trying to court voters.  
  
But Swanfair swore under her breath and shifted from side to side in her seat. They were only slight fidgets; Severus doubted that anyone would have noticed them who was not already watching her, as he was. But they were still more than she normally let slip in public, and Severus had to admit being intrigued as to the cause.  
  
Then Swanfair turned her head to look at Harry, and her glance became even sharper and more brooding. For a moment, Severus thought she might reach out to him and try to initiate a private conversation. But, perhaps because Harry’s attention was bent stubbornly forwards, she did not. Instead, she sank back against her chair and assumed a smile that was fake if one knew what to look for.  
  
 _What do you suppose has Swanfair angry_? Draco murmured. He was paying a credible amount of attention to Colben’s speech, but also searching the crowd with his eyes for a glimpse of his mother. Narcissa had gone back to the Manor two days ago, saying she might attend today.   
  
_I do not know_ , Severus said, and again listened to Colben’s speech. More vague words of the kind that one would expect from a politician. _I continue not to know. At first she seemed displeased with Colben’s promises. Now she looks at Harry as if she suspects him of having something to do with them. But she should know already that Harry could not write such a speech to save his life. He is far too straightforward.  
  
I heard that_ , Harry said, and then turned and smiled at Swanfair as if he had just noticed that she was beside him. “Was there something that you wished to speak with me about, madam?”  
  
Severus choked. Draco, whom he would have expected to be made angry by Harry’s political daring, simply laughed. Luckily, he managed to smother the sound into a sigh, so Swanfair didn’t suspect that this was the start of a scheme. She kept her eyes on Harry, with nothing more than a disgusted sidelong glance for Draco, and gave him a small smile.  
  
“Yes,” she said. “I understand that Colben has visited your house several times in the past few weeks.”  
  
Startled, Severus wondered if she was a Legilimens after all and he had somehow missed it, but Draco solved the puzzle for him when he muttered, _Remember how infuriatingly honest Colben is. I would not be at all surprised if she had told Swanfair about her visits herself._  
  
Harry smiled and nodded. “To discuss political strategies, yes, madam.” He kept his voice low and his eyes fixed straight ahead, so that anyone who glanced at him would see him still paying strict attention. “She wanted to clarify what I was supporting her for and what demands I would make when she became Minister.”  
  
“And did she say anything to you about Muggleborns and pure-bloods?” Swanfair kept a smile on her face, too, but Draco took great delight in pointing out to Severus several of the ways in which it was strained.  
  
“She said that she intended to reward the pure-bloods who had supported her, mostly with foreign positions.” Harry smiled openly at Swanfair now, with a muttered mental aside to Severus that it was impossible to hide that they were holding a conversation now. “I thought it an excellent point. I wouldn’t want her to ignore them. They would be angry and discontented later, and they have a right to expect some return for the risk they’re taking on Colben.”  
  
Severus was reeling, though he thought no one would have been able to tell that except perhaps Albus, who had known him well enough to tell what his tight grip on the side of his chair meant. Harry laughed at him down the bond, flavoring his amusement with soft green and bright gold. _Do you see what honesty can win you? I can speak of this openly because I’m sure that Colben meant what she said, and also that she talked about it to Swanfair._  
  
“Do you have some reason to think that she would ignore pure-bloods in favor of Muggleborns?” Harry added.  
  
Swanfair smoothed her robes and gave a private smile that made her look more confident, though Severus thought her still twitchy. “I wish to see equal treatment for all, regardless of their blood or political connections.” Harry gave her a sharp, wry look, and Swanfair handed him a small shrug. “It was worth saying, in case you believed me. And I will have to say it often in the next few years. It’s well to practice now.”  
  
“Perhaps you could tell me why you’re worried about it.” Harry leaned back in his chair and looked quickly at Colben, as though he were anxious about missing her speech, though his mind told Severus that he didn’t want to give Swanfair _too_ much of his attention. “I don’t think that Colben has a reason to feel a loyalty to one side over the other, since both of them have supported her and her own heritage is mixed.”  
  
“The Muggleborns are upset that Griselda Huxley was arrested.” Swanfair, it seemed, could use bluntness when she wanted to, as well, and she wielded her words like an axe. A diamond hanging at her throat glittered as she leaned forwards. Severus kept a sharp eye on it, in case she decided to try and hypnotize Harry again. Harry rolled his eyes down the bond and looked casually away from the diamond. “They are threatening to withdraw their support from Estella. I only wondered whether she had said something to you about that, and how it might affect her loyalty to the pure-bloods, who so far have made no such threats.”  
  
Harry snorted. “What would be the point in the Muggleborns withdrawing their support from Colben? Shacklebolt is the Minister who arrested her, and they know exactly what for.”  
  
Severus hid a vicious smile at the sight of the way that Swanfair’s mouth tightened. Harry knew why the Muggleborns were upset, and Swanfair knew that he knew, but if he clung to his honesty and refused to play the political game, it made more work for her.   
  
“They are upset that she continues to find support from you, since you are the reason that Huxley was arrested.” Swanfair clung to her bluntness in turn, though her tone had turned as hard as the diamond she wore. “If you would withdraw your support, or at least cease to meet in private with her, then it might placate them.”  
  
Harry showed his teeth. Severus felt inclined to do the same. He didn’t know if Swanfair seriously feared the Muggleborns’ anger—he thought not—or if she simply wanted to set a barrier between Harry and Colben for her own reasons, but either way, it was not as though Harry had to give her what she wanted.  
  
“No,” Harry said.  
  
Swanfair remained gravely silent for some moments, her face still, as if she were thinking. Then she said, “I hope that you will explain your refusal to me.”  
  
“Why should I?” Harry turned and stared at her. “You were the one who convinced me that Colben was a good candidate in the first place. I agree now. When you try to turn me away from her, I am sure that that serves some political goal of yours. I don’t see why I should indulge you.”  
  
Draco flinched in Severus’s mind, a bright flare of green light studded with gold. _That’s not something I would have said_ , he murmured. _Swanfair could find it hard to forgive a statement like that.  
  
She is already maneuvering in a way that implies she has no respect for Harry’s intelligence_ , Severus thought back, as he watched the grave mask on Swanfair’s face tighten. _He might as well answer that assumption with all the force in his power._  
  
Draco started to answer, but Swanfair was speaking, and Severus bade him be silent, enduring the fit of bruised purple sulking that followed.   
  
“If you withdrew your support from Colben at the moment,” she said, “it would serve her long-term political goals better.”  
  
“But my support is one of the main reasons that she’s popular,” Harry murmured, never taking his eyes off Colben now. Severus glanced at the woman, but couldn’t tell if she felt Harry’s gaze or not. “If I try to help her in the long term, I might hurt her in the short term, and then she would never get elected.”  
  
Swanfair stiffened. Severus wished he could tell whether she was more angry that her transparent plan wasn’t working or that Harry was acting subtle now, when he had been so blunt earlier.  
  
 _I think the latter_ , Draco murmured. _See the way her nostrils flare? I saw her do that when she visited our house the last time. My mother does the same thing when someone has the bad taste to confound her initial expectations of them._  
  
This time, Severus was the one who could not think of an answer before Swanfair responded. “There are important reasons that I ask this of you,” she said in a low, passionate voice. Severus might have been alarmed, except that of course someone like Swanfair would have to be good at feigning passion. “I assure you, Estella will still reach the position for which she aims, but you must remove the ladder by which you are helping her to climb to it.”  
  
“What are they?” Harry asked through a pleasant smile, joining the crowd as they burst into applause.  
  
“Pardon?” Swanfair’s forming smile froze, and Draco snickered in Severus’s head that he could almost _hear_ it creaking.  
  
“These reasons that I should give up attempting to help Colben now.” Harry turned towards Swanfair and gave her a polite smile in return for the frozen one. “You spent a lot of time trying to persuade me to support her, answering my questions and smoothing over my anxieties. Why change your mind now? The reasons must be compelling. Tell me what they are.”  
  
Swanfair looked at Harry blandly, having had a moment to get control of her face, but one hand closed into a hard clench on the seat of her chair. Draco sent another nasty chuckle down the bond to Severus. _She really didn’t think he’d ask.  
  
The more fool her_ , Severus responded as he watched Swanfair struggle in silence. He was interested to see what lies she would come up with—because they were certain to be lies. She might be practicing her honesty, but she did not have enough to tell Harry the real reason behind her change of heart.  
  
At last, Swanfair said, “The reasons have to do with politicking among the pure-bloods. I assure you, you would be bored contemplating them.”  
  
“I don’t intend to contemplate them,” Harry said earnestly, almost earnestly enough to prepare Severus for what he said next. “I intend to _think_ about them. And then act on my thoughts. Besides, as I said, you’re reversing yourself unexpectedly, and backtracking on a good deal of effort. You must have worded the reasons carefully to yourself. Tell me what they are.”  
  
Swanfair hesitated. Then, as Colben started to turn towards them, she said, “I will speak with you later,” and rose to her feet, smoothing her robes down, as she prepared to give her part of the appeal to the crowd.  
  
 _What do you think_? Harry asked, leaning back in his chair and reaching out to Severus through the bond with a touch as heavy as a caress, though he seemed to consider it wise to look at Swanfair and Colben for right now.  
  
 _A most impressive performance_ , Severus said, deciding to try his own perception of the truth. Harry started and glanced at him, then immediately snapped his head around again. The bond between them glinted like water full of sunlight.  
  
 _I wasn’t fishing for compliments_ , Harry’s thoughts said finally, a stiffness in them that contrasted oddly with the image of flowing water. _I meant, what do you think Swanfair’s real reasons are for trying to persuade me away from supporting Colben?  
  
Don’t you think it was impressive_? Draco could purr when he wanted to, though Severus had to admit that he had never seen much use for the skill. Draco stretched his arms over his head, causing Harry to look at him, and paused with his forearms at the exact angle from which they would glow most in the sunlight. Harry flushed. _You_ are _hard to please, Harry. Even your own efforts fall short of the mark.  
  
That wasn’t what I meant,_ Harry said, and then appeared to give up. _Look, there are too many reasons that Swanfair might have changed her mind, and we have to pay attention to her and Colben right now. So let’s forget it, shall we? We can talk about this when we’re at home.  
  
Someone’s shy_ , Draco said, his voice so soft and coaxing that Severus felt his body’s inconvenient response without surprise. He casually crossed his legs and watched Harry as he retreated from the bond.  
  
Harry’s unusual political assurance had caught him by surprise. He knew Harry could have picked up some of it watching him and Draco, and, even more, reading their unconscious thoughts, but Severus had not suspected him of absorbing that much.  
  
But at the moment, Severus found himself less interested in that aspect of the situation than at the way Harry still reacted with a flustered blush to evidence of his bondmates’ interest in him.   
  
That was something worth exploring, when they reached home.  
  
*  
  
Draco had a plan. The moment they stepped through the front door, he turned around and began to follow it.  
  
Harry, turning his head to answer a question from Severus about whether he thought the Muggleborns’ anger over Huxley real, stumbled into Draco’s chest. He faced Draco at once, an obvious question on his lips.  
  
Draco leaned in and kissed him, coaxing his mouth open with a gentle sideswipe of his tongue.  
  
Harry responded with more enthusiasm than Draco had thought he would, winding his arms around his neck and kissing back until Draco stumbled. Then they were pressed against the wall, Harry leaning in as if he wanted to be sure Draco carried a permanent imprint of his lover’s mouth for the rest of his life. Draco hardened at the idea, or rather went from half-hard to fully erect, and linked his hands together behind Harry’s neck.   
  
The plan didn’t include this, but all plans could stand to be flexible.  
  
Harry bit at Draco’s throat and then moved slowly down, licking along his collarbone. Draco moaned. It must have been those bloody dreams that told Harry how much he liked this. He lost all thoughts of the plan as he let his head loll to the side and Harry have his way.   
  
Then Severus circled around Harry and reached out to grasp a handful of Draco’s hair and tug on it. Draco whimpered. He whimpered even more when Severus reached out and pushed Harry’s head gently back.  
  
“I have been his lover for months now,” Severus whispered to Harry, in the sharp, deep voice that made Draco have to close his eyes. “Let me show you how he likes to be touched. Those dreams reveal much, but not enough, and so far, our encounters have been rather…hurried.”  
  
Harry’s eyes widened, and his cheeks turned red. Draco could feel the vibration of his thoughts: that he was one of the reasons those encounters had happened the way they had, because he was young and impatient and far too ready.  
  
 _And perhaps also because he’s still scared_ , Draco thought, making sure to send the words only to Severus. The plan returned to him. He frowned and started trying to drag himself upright. He wanted to know what scared Harry so badly about surrendering to intimacy with them. Surely he would be able to tell them, if only—  
  
 _This is about you for now, Draco_. Severus’s hands landed on his shoulders, pinning him in place. _Let both of us take care of you, as both of us took care of Harry the first time we were together. Relax._  
  
Draco lifted his head and stared into Severus’s eyes, needing some assurance that Severus wanted this and wasn’t only doing it to keep Draco from asking Harry his questions. Severus raised an eyebrow and thinned his lips, allowing a spark of displeasure into his lust. Draco finally gave in. Yes, Severus was curious about the answer to those questions, too, but now was not the time because he wanted to have sex, not because he thought Draco was pushing Harry too hard.  
  
“Good,” Severus whispered. His voice, combined with the emotions coming through the bond, seemed to envelop Draco in folds of velvet and lift him off his feet. “I had hoped for this. Now, Harry, watch the way I touch him. Slow and easy. That is the trick to seducing Draco. Almost gentle at first, but increasing in forcefulness over time, like so.”  
  
He trailed one finger down Draco’s neck, towards his shoulder. The finger moved impossibly slowly. Draco was tempted to buck and shake and urge Severus to do this faster, but at the same time, the fact that he had to wait and the inevitable pressure of Severus’s skin and nail made him stand still, shivering.  
  
“He likes that a lot, doesn’t he?” Harry’s voice had grown thick. Draco forced open eyes that had fallen shut and found him staring, his face almost as bright as the bond that burst into starlight between them. “Even though he doesn’t make any noise.”  
  
“Silence is often more powerful than any words.” Severus stopped trailing his finger downwards at last, because he had reached the place on Draco’s shoulder where the cloth of his robes took over. “Draco in particular sometimes finds his emotions difficult to express aloud.”  
  
“A good thing he has the bonds, then.” Harry’s voice was rich with amusement.  
  
Draco glared at him, but Severus shook his head, and Draco sighed and acquiesced. He was curious to see what Severus would do to him and for Harry. Severus had never taken on this professor-like role in bed, though Draco had glanced up sometimes after an orgasm and seen him watching with calculating eyes, studying the way Draco reacted to a particular touch.  
  
Draco didn’t mind that calculation, as long as it was employed to bring him pleasure.  
  
“After the finger,” Severus murmured, stooping, “a bit of tongue. But not too much, or he is liable to come without being touched.”  
  
Again Harry laughed. But there was no malice in it, and Draco couldn’t help the brief wistful thought that if he had heard Harry laugh like this at Hogwarts, they might have come to this stage in their relationship much sooner.  
  
Harry, sidling towards him, paused and shook his head a little. “It’s unthinkable to me that we might have come to be like this without Severus,” he said. “I know what you mean, but it’s a thought that belongs to another life.”  
  
Severus took away Draco’s surprise at Harry’s declaration by kissing him, and using tongue, as he had promised. Draco sighed in contentment as Severus relearned the taste of every corner of his mouth, and then he turned his head, or had it turned in the grip of strong fingers, and felt Harry kiss him with the same dedication.  
  
Not the same skill, though. Draco could retain his own mind, and even kiss Harry back. Harry made an eager gasping, hissing sound and pressed into him, holding Draco’s body still as though he wouldn’t get a good kiss otherwise.  
  
Draco shuddered. Harry’s pleasure was flooding him now, making it past the barrier of uncertainty that had fenced the bond. He felt his legs trembling and his hips thrusting without his permission. He _was_ going to come in his pants, and he sent out a silent plea to Severus, who he knew would understand his desire not to.  
  
Severus reached out and gently put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, pushing him backwards and away from Draco. Harry whined and strained forwards, his tongue flapping in the air for a moment. Draco smirked, his confidence restored. At least he knew that he wasn’t alone in doing things that would be embarrassing in front of a general audience.  
  
“Now,” Severus murmured. “One must undress him slowly, to get the full experience. Draco enjoys being the center of attention, as you do not, Harry. He writhes. He whimpers. Remove his clothes too quickly, and he will think you do not care.”  
  
Draco would have protested, but Severus was once again kissing him deeply as his fingers worked with slow, gentle attention over the buttons of Draco’s robes. Draco sighed and gave himself up for lost. Yes, he did writhe and whimper when he was like this. He could bear it, he could enjoy it, because of Severus’s burning eyes and the careful way his fingers worked.  
  
And trembled, too. Severus might try to claim that he was perfectly calm, but Draco knew his lover’s body almost as well as his own. Severus was affected.  
  
When Draco’s robe lay open from his waist up and Severus had pulled it carefully back along his arms, trapping them against the wall, Severus stepped back and called to Harry.  
  
Harry came bounding up at once. Draco gawked at him. He had never seen Harry like this: the hungry look in his eyes, the way his hands shook and clenched into fists at different seconds, the bond roaring and tumbling with light and water as green as the Killing Curse. He looked as if he didn’t know whether to grab Draco and kiss him or pin him to the ground and kiss him there.  
  
“The trousers, now.” Severus’s voice, commanding, didn’t leave either option open for Harry. “With gentleness. He is all the more likely to orgasm when you are touching him there.”  
  
Harry knelt so he could reach the trousers. Draco nearly fainted, remembering the other time that Harry had knelt in front of him and what he’d done. The grin Harry sent him said he was remembering it, too, and the foaming green in the bond calmed a little. He took a deep breath and began to pull delicately at the buttons that held Draco’s trousers closed.  
  
Draco was so busy watching Harry that he didn’t notice Severus moving in from the side until it was too late. Then he was arching and crying out as Severus’s mouth fastened on his left nipple and began to suck.  
  
Severus instructed Harry without words this time, moving his tongue in swift circles, pulling back until his teeth caught in Draco’s skin and Draco was writhing in tune with pain and desire, and then snapping close to Draco’s chest again, his arms locking around his torso. Harry made smacking sounds with his lips that indicated he was an eager student. Draco imagined a second mouth on his right nipple, and pushed his chest out towards Severus’s mouth with an impassioned cry.  
  
He felt Harry roughly tug his trousers down the rest of the way, and then Harry’s mouth was exactly where he wanted it, his teeth rougher than Severus’s, his breath hotter and quicker. Draco tensed, caught in the midst of too much sensation at once, and Severus knew what that meant and reached down to fasten his fingers around Draco’s cock, cruelly denying the come that was trying to spurt out of him.  
  
Draco made pleading whimpers between his clenched teeth. Severus, in control once more, handed him a cool smile and drew Harry back from Draco’s chest. “Now he is almost ready for deeper penetration,” Severus said.  
  
Harry stiffened and shot Draco an anxious glance. He seemed to understand that the words weren’t metaphorical.  
  
Draco didn’t care. His arse throbbed and ached, and he wanted Harry to fuck him. He answered the anxious look with a challenging one. Teaching Harry how to be gentle with Draco was all very well if he was worried about hurting someone, but Draco wanted eagerness and lust to match his own.  
  
Besides, he didn’t think there was any way to get Harry past his fears _without_ challenging him, showing that Draco wasn’t afraid and that Harry couldn’t be, either, if he wanted to race beside Draco.  
  
Severus distracted them both by clamping one hand around Harry’s neck and tilting his head back so that he could kiss him. Harry gave a slight gasp, and Draco felt a throb of discomfort from him down the bond; he was having difficulty breathing, or feared he was, with Severus’s fingers so tight. But he lost the fear in the next moment and clung to Severus’s robes as if he were drowning, his mouth open and his body slick and ready.  
  
Severus stepped back from Harry and spoke with soft encouragement. “You use lubrication to prepare him, the same kind that makes wanking more comfortable. Use as much as you like. There is no way that you can use too much.”  
  
“But lots of ways I could use too little.” Harry glanced at Draco again, the worry still hovering in his face, though his eyes kept getting distracted by Draco’s chest and his sucked nipples and his cock. Draco smiled and preened. He knew he was beautiful, but it was always nice to be reminded.  
  
“I will be right here,” Severus said, in the calm, iron tones of a war leader, “and I will not let you go ahead if I think it is too little.”  
  
Harry nodded, his eyes enormous, and reached out to lay one hand flat in the center of Draco’s chest. He gave Draco a challenging look of his own, and leaned in to kiss him. Draco accepted the delicately lapping tongue and the scrape of Harry’s teeth eagerly, though it was not everything he wanted.   
  
He also accepted it when Harry pulled back and said, with an air of decision, “I want to do this in a bed.”  
  
 _He will accept that he has a right to demand things he wants in the future_ , Severus murmured, in a thought that Draco knew Harry could not hear. _This is a hopeful sign._  
  
Draco agreed that it was, but at the moment, he cared less about what kind of psychological changes Harry was experiencing and more about the kind of things that his body was going to experience.  
  
*  
  
Harry felt some of the same rushing fear when he saw Draco stretched out on his back on the bed. His skin was pale and beautiful and marked by the love bites on his chest and neck. His eyes were half-lidded, bright and smug, but his hands made restlessly unsatisfied movements. He caught Harry’s eye and arched his head, turning it so that his throat was bared, in invitation.  
  
That he might hurt someone so beautiful, someone so precious to him…  
  
Then he felt Severus’s presence at his back, solid, pressing him forwards from behind in the same way Draco was beckoning him from in front, and he relaxed. He was not going to hurt Draco. Severus had said that he would not let that happen, and Harry trusted him as he did not trust himself.   
  
“Here,” Severus whispered, and pressed a small earthenware jar into Harry’s hands. Harry did not _quite_ make a spectacle of himself in fumbling the lid open and taking the sticky potion onto his fingers, but it felt like it.   
  
He swallowed nervously and reached out to Draco. Draco, with a lazy, knowing smile, started to turn over.  
  
“No!” Harry blurted. Draco glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow, the bond starting to stir with yellow discontent, and Harry felt his words trip over themselves as he rushed to explain. “I mean—I want to see your face. If you’re on all fours like that, you’re looking away from me, and I might miss your expressions.”  
  
Draco stared at him for a moment, then gave him a quieter smile and nodded.  
  
“This position is a bit trickier,” Severus breathed into Harry’s ear. “We must use cushions to lift his arse, and he must put his legs on your shoulders.”  
  
“I’ll do that,” Harry said. He couldn’t have taken his eyes from Draco right now for anything, and so he felt the warm presence at his shoulder more than he saw him. “I can’t—I don’t want to look away from him.”  
  
Severus kissed him beneath his ear. “So beautiful,” he breathed. Harry had no idea who he meant, him or Draco, and didn’t care.  
  
Severus got undressed as Harry piled the cushions under Draco, murmuring endearments to him all the while. Draco didn’t answer, but kept on smiling, and Harry knew the smile said more than words would have.  
  
When Draco was finally in a position that he declared to be comfortable, Severus put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and began to undress _him_. Harry glanced at him once, and saw the dark eyes so direct and hot that Harry flushed. The bond throbbing in his head mimicked the beat of blood in his cock.  
  
He felt uncertain all over again as he dipped his fingers in the lubricant and then urged them into Draco’s arsehole. How could he ever be worthy of them, when they were so strong?  
  
But Severus, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder, his arms around his waist, gave him instructions in a breathy voice that didn’t seem worried about that issue, and Draco arched his back and spread his legs and widened his eyes exactly as if Harry was an expert at this.  
  
It was like a dream to feel his fingers disappearing into that heat, to see Draco twist and hiss when Harry found his prostate, to feel Severus urge him forwards so that he was kneeling over Draco’s body and staring down at him. He was breathing hard as he eased into Draco’s entrance and felt it grip him and _squeeze_ until he lost track of the bonds in a burst of sensation like pain.  
  
It wasn’t pain. It was the most exquisite pleasure he had ever felt in his life. But he knew it was hunching his shoulders and twisting his face and making him less attentive to his bondmates than he might be otherwise, so he ducked his head and tried to hide even as he reached out and settled his hands shakily on Draco’s hips.  
  
Severus snarled next to him and kissed the side of his face so many times that Harry’s skin began to smart. “You are beautiful,” Severus whispered. “So beautiful. I love it when you are open.” He climbed onto the bed beside them—Harry knew that from the way the mattress bobbed—and slid one possessive hand around Harry’s hip, caressing him down to the globes of his arse. “ _Ah_.”  
  
Harry had to do something. He was breaking under the pleasure, and he could still barely see Draco through the red and green flashes in his eyes, and they were _looking_ at him in a way that he didn’t know if he could survive.  
  
He fumbled out, and his hand settled on Severus’s cock.  
  
Suddenly Severus was still, and Draco muttered something about being ready.  
  
Harry, finding a center again and not drifting helplessly away into nothingness, oriented himself and _thrust_ into Draco, at the same moment using the part of his mind that helped him in Quidditch to keep track of other players and yet hunt the Snitch to direct him in stroking Severus to completion.  
  
*  
  
It was incredible, and Severus did not know what sense to pay attention to first.  
  
There was sight: the sight of Harry riding Draco, shoving forwards into him, rocking back, his knees slipping along the edges of the pillows, Draco’s legs rising to his shoulders as if he had done this all his life, Harry’s face flushed and shiny, Draco’s eyes wide with a plurality of sensations that Severus all felt at the same time through the bond, pleasure ricocheting in circles and overwhelming them.  
  
There was feeling: the tight circle of Harry’s hand around his cock, adjusting itself as Harry felt his pleasure in certain strokes more than others, the slickness of the lubricant adding to the heaven for Severus.  
  
There was sound: the slap of skin, Draco’s breathy gasps, Harry’s helpless grunts, and the constant unvoiced words coming through the bonds, cut-off cries and sighs of exultation.   
  
There was taste: the taste of kisses in his mouth, of sweetness as rich as chocolate, of blood from where Harry had bitten his tongue.  
  
And there was smell: young bodies racing to completion, salt from pores, the delicate mint scent of the lubricant.   
  
All of it together seized him and swept him away, and Severus closed his eyes and rose into rapture.  
  
More than they had been the other times, they became one, a rising, whirling cloud of color and flesh that took and was taken, thrust and was thrust into, stroked and was stroked, blending and coiling and dropping into one another, the boundaries of the bonds so far away that it felt as if they were traveling through ringing, infinite space, and orgasm was only one more experience of intense joy, part of the lot rather than able to be treated separately.  
  
Whirling, and rising, and finally, dropping to earth.  
  
Severus opened his eyes to find himself draped over Harry, who was draped over Draco, who was making noises of complaint about having to hold them both up. Severus looked down. Draco was flushed and contented.  
  
Harry’s face was shining.  
  
By the time he had had his fill of kissing them both, Severus’s lips hurt.


	30. Chapter 30

  
Harry smiled thinly as he reached up to take the message from the owl. The owl was elegant, a cream-colored one with bright golden eyes, but so small and delicate that he didn’t feel more than a quick throb of pain for Hedwig. Then he was reading the letter, and nodding and smiling as he did so. It was all so exactly as he expected.  
  
 _Dear Harry:  
  
I know that you might not believe me, but a most urgent consideration has arisen in connection with Estella Colben. I need to speak with you as soon as possible. Make sure that you do not see Colben alone in this time. You may set the date and the place, but let it not be further off than a week in advance of today.  
  
Brynhildr Swanfair_  
  
Harry sucked the back of his teeth for a moment and wondered if it could be true.  
  
Then he shrugged. Even if it was, he couldn’t trust Swanfair to tell the truth regarding the weather yesterday. And he wasn’t about to back out of supporting Colben when she seemed to be the only honest politician he was ever likely to meet.  
  
 _Severus_? he asked, reaching out and sweeping his mind delicately over Severus’s. Draco wasn’t likely to wake up until later, but Severus often used the early morning to brood over new potions and spells and consider the possibilities for making them real.  
  
 _What are you doing out of bed so early_? Severus thought back at him, petulance etching the words in the bond like acid. _You left us cold.  
  
I wanted to get some early morning exercise. Ledbetter said this was the best time of day for it, and he was right_. Harry glanced around the garden in affection. He could hear the murmuring, sleepy chirps of birds, and even though a storm was coming, from the clouds that piled around the horizon, it wasn’t here yet. Harry had cleared a space among the Potions ingredients so that he could cast spells without damaging the plants. _You ought to come out here.  
  
I prefer not to leave the warmth and comfort of my young lovers before I have to._  
  
Harry laughed. He knew that Severus was giving him a great gift, though it might not seem like it, in exposing a side of himself so childish and vulnerable. It meant that he trusted Harry not to judge him harshly. _Well, one’s left you. And Swanfair’s sent me a letter hinting darkly that she needs to see me about Colben. Very non-specific, of course. It includes a warning not to tell Colben_. Harry crumpled the letter up into a ball and tossed it into the air, then caught it again on the way back down. He contemplated setting fire to it, but Severus would probably want to see it.  
  
 _Yes, retain it_. Severus sounded a bit more alert, if unwillingly so. _I will read it later. For the moment, I will rest_. Harry felt him retreat from the bond, so that Harry was hearing only a murmured echo of his emotions, like the roll of waves on a distant shore.  
  
Harry smiled and began to practice with some of the countercurses that Ledbetter had been showing them lately, complicated versions of the Shield Charm that were intended to protect against specific classes of magic rather than all sorts of spells. Draco had protested that a defense like that seemed useless compared with the Shield Charm. Ledbetter had given him the sort of patient glance that braced Harry; it meant the question was about to get an answer that Ledbetter thought they should have seen for themselves long since.   
  
“And when you meet a spell that goes through the Shield Charm like a hot knife through paper,” Ledbetter asked, “will you still insist on the effectiveness of that one spell, I wonder?”  
  
Draco had blinked and taken a step back as though he thought Ledbetter intended to use such a curse on him right then. Harry had snickered. Draco glared at him and tossed a wordless scolding his way before he nodded to Ledbetter. “Show us, then.”  
  
Harry practiced now, mouthing the incantations as he twisted his wand through the motions that Ledbetter had demonstrated. Matching the speed of his hand and his mouth was the hardest thing. Ledbetter had warned them that finishing one aspect of the spell before another could cause things to go horribly wrong.  
  
He smiled. He would be able to show Ron something new the next time they met. Ron had said that they were starting to practice spells like this in their Auror trainee lessons, but they hadn’t got there yet.  
  
Suddenly, Harry paused and blinked, as a new thought overcame him.  
  
 _I’m getting a better sort of instruction than an Auror trainee would have, and more specific to what I like best, Defense Against the Dark Arts. But I don’t think I want to be an Auror even if Colben lets me come back to the training. So what am I going to do with all this magic I’m learning?_  
  
Harry nibbled his lip. His immediate impulse was to say that he would go out and hunt down the Death Eaters, but he didn’t think there were all that many of them left to hunt, and Severus and Draco would have a fit if he ventured into danger like that. In fact, being an Auror probably wouldn’t have worked out, either, since he would constantly risk his life and stand the chance of killing them right along with him.  
  
What kind of career would use Defense but be safe? Harry had to admit that he couldn’t think of any. The wizards in the Ministry who stayed behind their desks didn’t need to know all the complicated things he was learning, and a desk job would bore Harry to death anyway.  
  
Then he smiled a bit, as other memories of his schooldays—memories that had nothing to do with fighting Voldemort—came back to him.  
  
 _I could be a teacher, maybe. Not at Hogwarts. I don’t think I could stand to go back there so soon after everything, and it would feel like retiring before I lived my life. But I could teach people who wanted to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts.  
  
If Draco ever manages to combine Potions and Defense, then I could help._  
  
A vague picture grew up in his mind—vague, but it was one that pleased him more than the thought of himself as an Auror. He and Draco and Severus would have a business of sorts, some small business that would allow them to spend lots of time together and work out of the house. Harry was no fool; he knew they would have to live behind powerful wards for years, even if Colben won the election. He would provide the basics of Defense, and Severus would provide the basics of Potions, and Draco would combine them. All of them would be necessary. All of them would be busy, and contented.  
  
 _And Draco will be the center of attention, just as he should be._  
  
Harry blinked. That didn’t sound like his own thought.  
  
Golden laughter showered through his head. _It’s not_ , Draco said, obviously fully awake now. _Not that you do badly when left to your own thoughts. I can like and admire the visions you come up with. But do remember that you should always pay attention to me. I’m worth it._  
  
Harry snorted back at him and started to reply, but his hand and mouth had gone on practicing without his permission, and he finished the gesture before the incantation. At once black ropes shot out of the air, coiled around and around each other in search of a proper shield to form, and then knotted themselves together in the middle—where Harry happened to be standing.  
  
 _Most instructive_ , Draco murmured as Harry swore and struggled in the middle of his ropes. _I’ll remember that Ledbetter usually has a point when he talks about performing the spells exactly as he teaches them to us._  
  
*  
  
Draco kept his head lifted and a contemptuous sneer tilting up the sides of his mouth as they walked into the back room of the small restaurant where they had agreed to greet Swanfair. Harry had assigned him to play the part of unimpressed pure-blood, so that Swanfair would soon stop checking his face for reactions and appeal to Harry and Severus instead. That would give Draco more time to observe her without being observed.  
  
It wasn’t hard to look scornful when he saw the state of the restaurant’s much-vaunted “private” room. The walls were thin screens of silk and other materials that Draco knew from experience were poor imitations of the decorations some members of his mother’s generation used in their homes. The painting on the wall depicted a woman changing into a blue heron, and would have been handsome except for the way her distorted features made her eyes seem to stare directly at you. The tables of red wood gleamed from a distance, but had scars and scratches on them close up. This was a place of petty corruption, and Draco didn’t have to be pleased by it.  
  
Swanfair waited for them at the largest table in the room, set back against the one wall that looked solid. She had a grey cloak on with a hood flung back that was probably meant to make her hair shine more like silver and her face look more impressive. She started when she saw Severus and Draco, then controlled the flinch and rose to her feet with an inclination of her head. Her smile, like the tables, would have convinced someone watching the interaction from a distance as she murmured to Harry, “I invited you alone.”  
  
“You must know that bondmates cannot be so easily separated,” Harry said, with an easy smile that paid compliments to Swanfair’s sense of what was proper. “And you said nothing in your letter about wanting to see me alone.”  
  
“The salutation—” Then Swanfair visibly decided that she wasn’t here to correct Harry’s manners, and bit back the other words that would have risen. She shook her head in irritation and faced Draco with a faint, forced bow. “Welcome, Mr. Malfoy. Welcome, Mr. Snape.”  
  
Draco thought idly as he nodded back and slid into his seat how odd it was to hear someone call Severus by that title. When he had been at Hogwarts, he was always a Professor, and now, Draco didn’t imagine that he could ever call Severus by anything other than his first name.  
  
 _If I wish you to call me something else, then you will_ , Severus’s voice said in his mind, heavy with promise, dark as squid ink. He took his own seat and nodded to Swanfair, folding his hands in front of himself on the table. He had agreed, like Draco, to leave the main burden of the confrontation up to Harry, but his role was different. He would do his best to probe gently into Swanfair’s mind when she looked at him and find out why she really wanted to meet. “We are happy to greet you in return, Mrs. Swanfair, and hope that you will forgive our presence.”  
  
That produced a slight thaw in Swanfair’s smile, and she inclined her head at Severus. Then she turned and studied Harry as if she wanted to find a weakness or a flaw in him that wasn’t readily apparent.  
  
 _Look as hard as you like_ , Draco thought in some pride, following her gaze to Harry. _You won’t often find one.  
  
And the ones she could find, you’re protecting me against_ , Harry finished, doing that trick he did so often and following up a random thought with a compliment. At the same time, he smiled confidently at Swanfair, and he might have been a statue of a hero for all the human frailty his face showed. His lips were bright red and inflexible; his dark hair was wild and too tangled to make someone think they could pat his head. His eyes were calm and polite and attentive, but they promised nothing.  
  
 _Stop looking at me that way, or I’m going to get hard._  
  
Draco had to fight to keep from grinning. He thought of replying that that was a reason for him to stare all the more, but Severus was just starting to turn his head to look at Draco in disapproval. That wasn’t the plan. Severus was supposed to keep his attention on Swanfair, and Draco was supposed to look perfectly calm and composed under this wretched mask. With a little sigh, he refocused his gaze on Swanfair and let his sneer take over again.  
  
“This is a very important meeting,” Swanfair said, spreading her fingers across the table and giving Harry an earnest look. Draco had to admit that she was good. Two months ago, he would have been anxious about leaving Harry alone with her. There was a chance that she could persuade him. Now, it was useless. Harry was most persuaded by a round of good sex, and he already had his favored partners.  
  
 _Will you stop having thoughts like that_? Harry snapped at him, and then began speaking to Swanfair before Draco could retort with proper indignation that Harry shouldn’t be _listening_ to his thoughts. “Why is it an important meeting? I’m afraid that I still don’t understand what Colben is supposed to have done to make you stop supporting her, or what I’m supposed to have done that makes me dangerous to her.”  
  
 _You should be thinking about_ us _being dangerous to her_ , Draco remind him.  
  
 _But she has a tendency to forget that we’re three, not one._ Only the slight tick of a muscle in Harry’s cheek showed that Draco’s interruption had irritated him. _I want to encourage that tendency. Now leave me alone and let me do this._  
  
“Today, we decide the course of Britain’s immediate political future.” Swanfair lifted her head when she had said that and poised like a heroine in a tragic play. Draco eyed her with interest. She was acting her part so well that it was hard to tell it was a part. “Colben is more unsteady than I had thought her, less suited to take up the Minister’s office. We may have to change candidates.”  
  
“What has she done?” Harry was making a good impression of surprise, with his wide eyes and lowered, grave voice. “Changing candidates at this point in the race is rarely a good idea. It would have to be something momentous.”  
  
“You know, of course,” said Swanfair, her fingers playing about each other, “that a politician must have a certain mastery of deception to be good at this game. I have seen you play with more subtlety than I would have credited you with, and so that knowledge must be among your accomplishments.” She directed an oblique look at Harry.  
  
“Yes, of course,” Harry said, and his smile was guileless. That _almost_ prepared Draco for what Harry said next. “We have to hope that the next Minister won’t go as far as Shacklebolt did and lie about what he’s supposed to be doing, but it might happen.”  
  
Draco clamped his lips together to hold back a snort. Severus gave a thin smile and picked up the nearest of the glasses of water that the server had already brought to the table, sipping it carefully.  
  
Swanfair looked at them both with the same sort of tolerant patience that Draco’s mother would have given to people who insisted on being drunk at a formal party, and then turned around again and paid attention to Harry alone. “Shacklebolt’s mind is diseased,” she said, with a grave shake of her head. “He can no longer tell the difference between truth and lies, when one would be useful or when the other would.” She paused impressively. “I am beginning to think that Colben’s mind is diseased in the opposite direction.”  
  
“She knows too much about the difference between truth and lies?” Harry picked up a piece of cheese from the plate of slices in front of him. Draco sent him a pointed mental warning, but Harry sighed back to let Draco know that he understood and simply played with the cheese, giving Swanfair a confused frown all the while. “I don’t see how that could be a bad thing. Unless we have to worry about the clear sight itself driving her mad.”  
  
“Use some of that subtlety that I know you have,” Swanfair said with a sudden and shocking change of tone, leaning forwards and glaring at Harry as if he had tried to irritate her on purpose. “She is mad _now_ , as far as politics are concerned. She reveals too much. She speaks her true intentions and makes promises that she _intends to fulfill_. She does not have that reserve that is natural and necessary for a Ministerial candidate. Of course we have to replace her with someone else, someone who will understand her responsibilities better.”  
  
Harry leaned back in his seat. His face had gone still and blank, and Draco might have been fooled into thinking he felt neutrally about this if he didn’t have access to the bond. The bond was brilliant orange and filled with small, madly hopping shapes.  
  
 _Does she really think she can persuade me of this_? Harry appealed to both Draco and Severus at once, his voice thick with anger. _Or is she playing at something else, hiding a second game under this one?_  
  
Draco looked hard at Swanfair before he answered. He wouldn’t want to give answers his life might depend on, but Swanfair’s eyes had the same hard glitter as the jewels she wore. It also hadn’t escaped his notice that the room was well-warded. No word they spoke here would emerge to touch the ears of anyone outside.  
  
 _I think she’s as sincere as she can be_ , he said at last. _She probably hates petitioning you like this, because she has to suspect that you like Colben’s honesty. But you’re her most powerful supporter. There are a lot of people who will vote for Colben just because you approve of her. If Swanfair takes out everyone else and not you, it doesn’t make much difference in the end.  
  
I agree_ , Severus added. _She has been driven into a corner, or she would have chosen some other way. She does not know what will compel you to turn around and agree with her about Colben, so she chooses this tactic._  
  
Harry nodded and turned back to face Swanfair. It occurred to Draco that he hadn’t once questioned their opinions or refused to listen to them simply because they were “Slytherin” opinions, depending on something else other than optimism. Draco grinned. He wondered how he could make sure that Weasley realized Harry’s deep trust in him.  
  
Severus pinched his arm under the table.   
  
“I can see some of the problem that you have with this,” Harry told Swanfair. “But I would still rather an honest politician than one, like Kingsley, who gets tangled and ensnared in secrets and lies to the point that he can’t even act.”  
  
“You fool.” Swanfair’s fingers would have made impressions on the nice wood table if her nails were a very little sharper, Draco decided. She leaned forwards as if she thought that looming over Harry would make him change his mind. Draco snorted inwardly. Of course that wouldn’t work. Harry had grown somewhat, but he was still so short that he had to get used to people taller than he was.  
  
Harry pinched him this time, but down the bond, so Draco didn’t have to work as hard on controlling the flinch.  
  
“I don’t see why.” Harry sipped at his own water, his eyes wide and bright and alert. “Colben has her faults. I have no illusions that she’ll be the perfect Minister or easy to control. But I don’t _want_ to control her. I want someone I can work with, instead, someone who has her own strength for those moments when mine might falter.”  
  
Swanfair closed her eyes and shook her head, pressing her fingertips against her temple this time, as if she thought that her head would hurt less if she could break through the skin.   
  
“I did not mean Colben to be a simple figurehead,” she said. “But we must have control of her, and we cannot if you insist on supporting her in her transparency.”  
  
“Explain to me why.” Harry’s voice had cooled and settled into the sort of shape that would have warned Swanfair of danger if she had been more familiar with him. Draco gave her a sneering half-smile. She was not the best political player after all—or rather, she was like his mother, and her initial impressions controlled what she saw and experienced after that, sometimes to a horrifying extent.  
  
“Surely you must see why we cannot maintain control of her if you support her in this fashion.” Swanfair brushed her hair out of her face and gave Harry a hard look. Draco widened his sneer, only to see Swanfair ignore him. She had decided to focus on Harry so much that she had blinded herself to changes in the people she depended on for support. Draco had to restrain himself from pounding his head on the table at such blindness.   
  
“I was asking a different question,” Harry said. “Why must we maintain control of her? You were careful to present her to me as a partner, and I’ve accepted her in that spirit. Why can’t we live with what she’s really like, instead of what you wanted her to be?”  
  
Swanfair turned pale. For long moments, she remained so still that Draco hoped this was the moment that Severus could slip past her barriers and manage to use Legilimency on her despite her defenses.  
  
 _Not yet_ , Severus told him regretfully. _I must do it undetected, or it will be worse than useless._  
  
Before Draco could answer, Swanfair rose to her feet. Her voice was smooth, and cold, and might have had the power to make Draco tremble a year and a half ago, before he had acquired his bondmates and some sense of his own power.  
  
“So be it. It seems that our political goals part ways here.” She paused, and Draco thought she had intended to walk away from the table in dignified silence. But the words burst out of her despite herself. “You promised me power. Where did you _think_ it would come from, since you wouldn’t allow me to control you?”  
  
“I thought it would come from having a position in the Ministry.” Harry was giving her a level look that Draco decided he must have practiced in the mirror when neither Draco nor Severus was looking. It was so good that even Narcissa might have applauded. “From being a close adviser to Colben. From taking one of the foreign positions she seems so interested in rewarding her pure-blood supporters with. From many different things.”  
  
“Power over the powerful is the only safe choice in any time and place,” Swanfair said, her eyes bright. Draco could have reached out and cut himself on her words. “You are out of the question, for reasons I understand. Colben is not, but she is not what I thought her, either. Stronger in her honesty, and in her personality. And she does not understand gratitude in the way that almost any pure-blood child would.”  
  
Harry laughed, ignoring the way that Swanfair’s hands clenched when he did. “I can’t imagine that most pure-blood children would rejoice if you were given power over them, either.”  
  
“Achieving the power of a Minister should be enough for anyone,” Swanfair answered back, swift as a viper striking. “No one should ask for more than that. That she has the arrogance to think she should be Minister in her own way, when she would not have risen this far without us…”  
  
Harry’s response to that blew up like a firework in Draco’s mind, but remarkably, when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Well, it hasn’t been enough for her. And I would rather trust someone who can act on her own than a figurehead.”  
  
Swanfair gave a calm, chilling smile, her first gesture that had impressed Draco in the entirety of the conversation. “Oh, but you will be trusting a figurehead,” she breathed. “Because she will be my figurehead, if not yours.”  
  
She turned and left the restaurant.  
  
Harry waited for a few minutes until he was sure that Swanfair wasn’t coming back, then called the server over and ordered salads and bread and fresh fruit. Meanwhile, the bond between him and Draco filled with stinging coolness like seafoam. _Well? What do you think we have to worry about next when it comes to Swanfair?  
  
The most likely choice is that she will try to compel Colben to do her bidding_ , Severus answered. He was frowning at the table. Draco knew he was disappointed that he’d never had the chance to try Legilimency on Swanfair, and sent him a wave of reassurance. Severus smiled back, but the trouble still burned in the back of his eyes like a stubborn ember. _Mere persuasion is unlikely to work. But we have no notion whether Colben is resistant to the Imperius Curse or to the tricks with gems that we know Swanfair can perform.  
  
Then we must warn her_. Harry gave the server who brought them their food a charming smile. “Could you bring me ink and parchment and a quill?” he asked. “And do you have an owl I could use?”  
  
The server stammered, her dark eyes going wide, fastened to Harry’s forehead as if a scar was still there. In the end, she nodded and scampered away. Harry rolled his eyes and bit hard into his salad as Draco and Severus chuckled at him.  
  
“I hope the warning is in time,” he muttered aloud.  
  
“If it is not,” Severus said, plucking a twist of bread from the loaf in the center of the table, “then we will free Colben. That is all.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes. For long moments, he couldn’t name a source for the flood of sweetness breaking over him.   
  
Then he realized what it was. Once, Severus would have spoken those words grimly, absorbed in the weight of the task before him, only one more unwanted thing to do in a lifetime of them. Now he spoke lightly, and was thinking about something else in the next moment, though Draco could not grasp the substance of his thoughts.  
  
Harry put it into words for him. “You feel that you can enjoy your life more now,” he said, and Draco opened his eyes to see that he was regarding Severus with a bright smile and softened features.  
  
Severus paused and glanced sharply at them both; he seemed to feel that they might be mocking him. Then he relaxed and put one hand on Draco’s neck, while brushing his opposite shoulder against Harry. “Yes,” he said. “Now that I have people about me who will make the experience worth living.” He popped the bread into his mouth and chewed it defiantly, half-closing his eyes as if that increased the intensity of the taste.  
  
Harry met Draco’s eyes, and Draco caught the edge of his thought, turned sideways and made dim to keep it from Severus. _He deserves everything that he has and more.  
  
I wouldn’t disagree with you_ , Draco responded, also carefully, wondering what Harry was getting at.  
  
 _So_. Harry fell silent for a moment, while the bond opened out and then contracted and turned yellow the way it did when Harry was feeling a tangle of complex emotions. _I think we should give him something else to help make his life worth living. Focus on him in bed the way that you focused on me and we focused on you._  
  
Draco gave him a slow smile, and made his thoughts even more of a whisper in his head. He would enjoy that, not only for the pleasure that he knew it would give them all, but for the fact that Severus would struggle to hide his delight and surprise. _When do you want to do it? Soon, or not?_  
  
Harry closed his eyes, and Draco felt a flash of fear that told him what Harry was contemplating for his gift to Severus. Then he answered, _Let’s settle this situation with Colben first, and decide whether we’ll need to fight Swanfair. That ought to be soon enough._  
  
Draco nodded. He could wait, especially because he didn’t think their days in between then and now would be exactly _devoid_ of pleasure. Besides, this would add a keen anticipation to what would happen when they foiled Swanfair.  
  
“You are also enjoying your lives, I hope.”  
  
Draco blinked and glanced up. Severus was watching them with flared nostrils and slightly lowered eyelids, while the bond between them was murky with uncertainty. He knew they had been talking privately, but not what they’d said, Draco thought. His prickliness was still there, if hidden beneath the surface most of the time now. Perhaps he’d decided they’d been exchanging complaints.  
  
“Very much so,” Harry said, taking the lead in the way that baffled Draco to do just then. He stretched up and kissed Severus with single-minded intensity. Severus returned the kiss, his hands rising to hold Harry in place. Draco leaned against Severus’s back and kissed the nape of his neck.  
  
A muffled squeak interrupted them. Draco glanced up. The server had come back with a coil of parchment and an inkwell in one hand, and an owl riding her wrist. The bird looked as ruffled as she did.  
  
Harry laughed and reached out a hand to take the things she’d brought, not seeming to notice his own flushed face or the way that Severus’s arm curled possessively around his neck. “Thank you,” he said.  
  
The server bowed and nodded and started to run away, remembered the owl, turned back, put the owl on the back of Severus’s seat, and hurried off.  
  
“It’s not _that_ funny,” Harry said as Draco snorted and Severus bowed his head with the smile twitching wildly at the corners of his lips, but he was biting his lip on chuckles.  
  
*  
  
Severus knew Harry and Draco were planning something, something in which he was not included.   
  
However, as he also suspected that he knew what it was, he did not concern himself about it so much as what they should do about Swanfair and Colben.  
  
Their letter to Colben had produced no response. Perhaps she was already under Swanfair’s control, and had ripped up the letter on her command, Severus thought. Or perhaps Swanfair had simply intercepted it.  
  
Still, it had been only two days. He would try to avoid troubling himself with fruitless speculations until he had some proof as to one of them.  
  
He had made sure that Harry warned Granger and the Weasleys about the break with Swanfair. There was no telling who else she might lash out at if she was as disappointed as Severus thought she was.  
  
He stepped back from the cauldron in front of him and surveyed the smoke rising from it critically. Then he nodded. The green smoke had a bluish tinge to it, the way it should, since this was an experimental potion. He reached for the next ingredient, the vial of hen’s toenails, never taking his eyes from the smoke. If it bent towards him and managed to fill his lungs, then he was in serious trouble.  
  
 _Do you need one of us there_? Draco demanded abruptly in his head. He had picked up Severus’s thoughts from a greater distance than he ever had before, since he and Harry were currently at the Burrow exploring how the Weasleys reacted to one of Harry’s bondmates. _It sounds like it.  
  
Do you require my participation when you are conducting your own experiments_? Severus narrowed his eyes in satisfaction when Draco made an annoyed grumbling sound.  
  
 _Just be careful._  
  
Draco retreated from the sudden close communion. Severus took a moment to check on the bond, and as far as he could feel their emotions from this distance, both Harry and Draco seemed well. He scattered the hen’s toenails into the potion and watched as the green smoke changed again, this time to a vivid red.  
  
 _Good_. If Severus was right, this would be a potion that combined the properties of Veritaserum, a Calming Draught, and a Dreamless Sleep Potion. The victim would go to sleep after ingesting the potion and babbling true answers to whatever questions were asked, and wake remembering nothing more than a sudden tiredness.  
  
Severus could think of certain political opponents of theirs who _required_ this potion.  
  
Someone appeared at the edge of their wards and disrupted his concentration. Severus clenched his fingers on the table against the immediate temptation to turn his head away. That would be stupid with the potion in such a volatile state.  
  
Instead, he moved without haste through the next three steps, which required the addition of rose petals, flakes of gold, and three widdershins stirs. Then he cast a Stasis Charm on the entire lab—one could not be too careful with experiments—and walked out of the lab, sealing the door behind him with another charm. Many of those same enemies the potion was intended for would also find it useful. Severus did not wish to put it in their hands because of misplaced overconfidence.  
  
 _Severus_? This time it was Harry who had picked up on his distress from miles away. _Do you need us to come home?  
  
I do not even know who the visitor is yet_ , Severus snapped, sure that his anxiety would be sensed and forgiven. He cast the spell that would allow him to see over the garden, and then blinked. _It is Colben.  
  
We should be there_ , Draco insisted, the bond from his side alive with sunbursts.  
  
 _No. It is also important that you maintain good relations with the Weasleys_ , Severus answered. _I handled Colben by myself once before. I will do so again_. He refused to listen to his bondmates’ buzzing as he reached out and opened the wards to Colben. He truly did not fear her. If she were under Swanfair’s control, then he should be able to sense that at once and defeat her the more easily, because he would use spells that he would hesitate to use if she were in her right mind.  
  
Colben walked into the garden the moment the wards fell. Severus watched her carefully, but could see no shuffling in her gait or vagueness in her gaze, such as often afflicted people who were under the Imperius Curse or some variant of that spell cast through jewels.  
  
 _Then again_ , he reminded himself, as he lifted the final defenses and spun a net of wards around her at the same time so she could get through the door, _I have not always recognized such indications. To my cost_. He winced as a faint throb of pain went through an old scar on his right hip.  
  
 _You never told us about that_ , Harry said at once. _What’s the story? Do you need help? Are you sure you don’t need help_? he amended the last question as Severus growled in irritation.  
  
 _Yes, I am. Pay attention to your conversation with the Weasleys. Would you like them to think that you do not like their company and are always thinking of the bondmate you left behind_? Severus stretched his lips into a smile to welcome Colben. No, there was no glaze in her eyes; in fact, her gaze was almost offensively direct and sharp.  
  
Y _ou were welcome to come with us.  
  
And then no one would have been at home to greet Colben when she came calling. Yes, Harry, that is a magnificent solution._  
  
Harry lapsed into sulky silence, and at last, Severus was able to give his full attention to Colben. “Yes?” he asked.  
  
“Swanfair has broken with you,” Colben said. “Her first action was to come to me and tell me that you had turned against me.”  
  
Severus made sure that his fingers were lightly clenched around the end of his wand, ready to draw it and use it if necessary. “That is not the case,” he said. “But if you believe it, of course you must act on the belief.”  
  
Colben stared at him with darkened eyes for a long moment before replying. Severus wondered idly if she had expected a confession of guilt. Yes, Colben was honest, but she must know that her deficiency did not take up every mind around her.  
  
“I do not believe it,” Colben said.  
  
Severus inclined his head. “Will it please you to come in and talk about it? Harry and Draco are not here at the moment, but that need not trouble you. They are with me in spirit, and I may speak for all of us.”  
  
“A chair would be pleasant,” Colben said, following him. “I was on my feet most of the night, debating about who to believe and what I should do. I cannot afford to lose Harry’s support, and he has been more honest with me. But I also cannot afford to lose Swanfair, who is my line to the pure-bloods.”  
  
 _What’s the use of coming to us without Swanfair, then_? Draco muttered in a dissatisfied way in the back of Severus’s mind.  
  
But Draco was not here in the flesh, and could not see Colben’s face. When she spoke the last words, she had looked up and into Severus’s eyes. He knew what she wanted. She would prefer to leave Swanfair behind and go ahead with their support, as long as there was a way that she could keep the pure-bloods with her.  
  
“You do know,” Severus said neutrally, “that the Malfoy name is powerful.”  
  
“Once powerful,” Colben said, taking the chair he motioned her to. She arranged her robes around her as if they were skirts, a nervous gesture that Severus had not seen her make before. “Are they the same now, with the head of their line in prison and his wife receiving very few visitors?”  
  
“And their son bonded to Harry Potter,” Severus said.  
  
Colben paused, her eyebrows rising slowly until they touched the edge of her fringe. Then she gave a small smile. “You interest me,” she said. “Go on.”  
  
“The pure-bloods have not approached us before they thought that Harry’s distaste for those of their numbers who were Death Eaters would overcome any influence Draco could have over him,” Severus said. He knew that was the truth, even though he had never given it much thought before. There was no reason for the people who had long known Draco’s family not to try and court them otherwise. “And, of course, they had Swanfair. But if we make the news of the breach between you and Swanfair public…”  
  
“If there is a breach between me and Swanfair.”  
  
Severus laughed softly. “You are not stupid. You know that Harry is more congenial to you, more _like_ you, than Swanfair could ever be.”  
  
“That is not always enough to guarantee political compatibility.” Colben gave a slight shrug. “Swanfair was honest enough with me at the beginning, too, about what she wanted from me and what she was capable of giving in return. There is no saying that Mr. Potter will not turn out the same way, just as we cannot say if the pure-bloods would rally to a Malfoy as their name stands at this stage of the world’s affairs.”  
  
“Without Swanfair,” Severus said, “the pure-bloods would have no choice but to turn to us, because otherwise you might cast them off as you cast _her_ off. And they would be well-pleased enough to deal with a pure-blood and with someone who was a notorious Death Eater and therefore, they will think, must have believed in blood purity. They will be even more pleased to have a direct line to Harry Potter. There is nothing that we cannot give them that Swanfair could. We only have to make it known that we have so many things on offer.”  
  
Colben smiled, a smile that seemed to come from a long way off, like a gleam of light underwater. “Yes,” she said. “That might make it work. Of course, if Swanfair attempts something in return, the way she did with a ruby this morning, then she could lure the pure-bloods back to her side.”  
  
“We must make the offer so tempting that that will not happen.”   
  
Severus felt a rush of pleasure as he spoke. It was twofold. Conversing with someone intelligent like this, making deals that everyone understood, was one of its sources, but the rest came from the soft beams of light that he could feel falling on him from his bondmates.  
  
“Very well,” Colben said. “We will include political access to the Chosen One and…perhaps some potions that you could brew? That will do for an initial offer, combined with what I intend to offer them if they stay loyal to me instead of Swanfair.” She rose to her feet.  
  
Severus stood, astonished that she had gone along with this so quickly. Of course, Harry’s politics would be more to her taste, but taste seemed to rule over her instead of practicality. He hoped that meant they could still trust her.   
  
“I will agree to brew the potions,” he said. “But can you handle making the offer and hearing the words of those who might prefer to remain with Swanfair?”  
  
For a moment, Colben’s eyes turned hard and cold. Then she was smiling gently again.  
  
“Ah,” she said. “I understand. You are like the others who think that I am fragile because I am open and honest.” She shook her head slightly. “I am as hard as steel could wish to be, Mr. Snape. Watch me after this and see if you do not agree.”  
  
And she whirled out the door, which left Severus to blink after her.  
  
 _She’s right, you know_ , Harry said in his head, in intense amusement. _You do have a bad habit of assuming that someone is fragile because of being open.  
  
You handled it well_ , Draco said at the same time.  
  
Severus snorted at both of them and turned back to his lab. At least his potions wouldn’t pull any baffling surprises on him.  
  
At least, he thought so until he opened the lab door and discovered the deep deposit of emerald-green tar covering everything because the Stasis Charm had reacted with the sealing charm on the door.


	31. Chapter 31

  
_We have a very large problem._  
  
The thought slipped through Draco’s head. He wanted to agree, since he was surveying the angry crowd of pure-bloods in the hall in front of them. There were faces he had known for years out there, and faces that resembled the ones he had gone to school with. He could feel the throb and tingle of Dark Arts from many wands; he could see ornaments that were powerful defensive weapons. In some cases, the sight of formal robes alone was enough to make him wince. Those robes had originally been woven for battle situations.  
  
But he was the one who had to lead his bondmates in this situation, because he was the only pure-blood and the only one with a respected family name that they stood some chance of trusting. (Once, Potter might have been a name like that, but everyone knew that the latest Potter heir had been reared in the Muggle world). So Draco straightened his shoulders and replied firmly to the thought, _We have a problem not too large to be handled.  
  
How do you know that_? Harry’s thought curled through his mind like oil on water. _Swanfair defeated us with the simple truth. She said that we were breaking from her and let the pure-bloods assume that that meant we were all favoring Muggleborns. How are we supposed to reverse conclusions that people came to in their own preconceptions, without even the help of rumor?  
  
It’s a good thing that_ you’re _not running for Minister, with a defeatist attitude like that_ , Draco said, and then stepped out from behind the fringed curtain he’d kept in front of him so far. A combined shout and jeer rose to greet him. Draco raised an eyebrow and let them see how their opinion bored him. _Let me handle this. I told you I would. You and Severus remain ready to provide protection in case I need it.  
  
And you will_ , Severus said. Draco didn’t mind the grave tone in his voice; it was better than the ominous silence he’d maintained so far.  
  
 _Then give it to me_ , Draco said, and waited, facing the crowd, until their sounds gradually quieted. Draco was grateful for the venue that Colben had chosen for their answer to the pure-blood crowds. It was a large wooden hall some miles away from Hogsmeade, used for concerts and plays when enough performers were interested. It had excellent acoustics so that the ones who stood on the stage could be heard easily, but which did not allow the audience to project their voices as loudly as they thought they should be able to. Draco would have been deafened otherwise.  
  
Colben had been reluctant to let Draco speak for her at first, but she had grown up around enough of her father’s compatriots to realize that it was best if someone of pure blood talked first. So Draco stood there with his face calm and implacable, and reminded himself that he was distant enough that no one who stared up at him could see his pulse throbbing.  
  
When the room was tolerably silent, Draco said, “I could excuse you for having been victims of a deception. But you have been victims of nothing save your own hastiness to jump to conclusions.” He permitted himself a single well-bred sneer. “I would have nothing to say to you if we did not wish to embrace all the communities of wizarding Britain.”  
  
“There was no deception!” someone called from the back of the crowd. “We know that what Swanfair told us is true. You’ve backed away from her and so from all the promises that she made to us.”  
  
Draco saw several people who stood near the speaker shift away from him, and would have smiled if this was the right time to do so. They were not so angry as to forget all decorum, then. Good. That would make it easier to handle them.  
  
“We have backed away from her,” he said. “But why should the promises that Colben made you, the promises of prime foreign service appointments and the careful legislation she plans to enact to heal the wounds of the war, be tied to Swanfair’s presence among her supporters?”  
  
“She was the one who approached us,” continued the same stubborn person, who apparently didn’t mind being an exile from polite circles for some weeks. Draco could see him better now as the crowd continued to create a widening space around him. He was a tall man with a thin black mustache and long black hair whose features said one of his parents had been a Vainer. “She was the one who told us that she would represent our interests with Colben. Colben couldn’t be trusted to remember those interests on her own since she had a Mudblood mother,” he added virtuously.  
  
More shifting. Yes, Draco knew that plenty of the people he was confronting still had beliefs in blood purity, but it was now gauche to say that word aloud.  
  
“And that was your first mistake,” Draco responded swiftly. “Letting someone _else_ represent your interests with Colben. You were content to sit back and let _her_ do everything?” He was proud of the way his eyebrows rose, of the perfect pitch of contempt and horror in his voice. “And then you did not anticipate there might be problems if there was ever a breach between her and Colben? The _actual_ candidate that you had agreed to elect to the Ministerial position?”  
  
The Vainer man made some blustering response, but Draco could see the blame creeping over many of the faces in the foreground. They were scolding themselves for succumbing to Swanfair’s easy promises, Draco knew. Of course, many of them probably had other plans, but those plans must not have been directly attached to Colben, and at least some of them should have been.  
  
“Now,” Draco said, when he thought he had allowed them enough time to consider but not enough time to start trying to find excuses, “I agree that a representative Colben can directly deal with is a good idea. But Swanfair has made it impossible for her to assume the position. Colben finds her personally repugnant.” Colben had given him permission to say that. “Therefore, we need another pure-blood who is close to her, or close to the ones who are close to her, someone she might accept.”  
  
“And you think of yourself in that position, of course.” This was a woman with white hair and a pinched mouth. Draco was glad to recognize her after a single glance. This was Pansy’s grandmother, Mildred Fausset.   
  
He gave her a small bow. “Yes, I do, Madam Fausset.” From her slight start and the faint flush in her cheeks, Draco didn’t think she had expected to be recognized, and she had liked it. “Who would not want such power? But more to the point, I am in a unique position. I am bonded to the person that Estella Colben trusts most, because, like her, he’s a half-blood and open and honest.”  
  
Blood had almost nothing to do with why Colben trusted Harry, but this crowd wouldn’t believe that, and Draco was ready to say as much as necessary to persuade them. Besides, this kind of assertion didn’t require any direct lies on Colben’s part, and she had given him permission to use those words.  
  
“There are better candidates,” someone from behind Fausset said, her voice high-pitched and fussy. “Other people with more political experience, with wider concerns in the wider pure-blood community.”  
  
Draco put on the air of someone determined to patiently listen to nonsense. “And with the ear of Colben?” he asked.  
  
The woman subsided into silence.  
  
“Yes,” Draco said, turning his head back and forth so that he could give the impression he was looking at everyone at once, his eyes meanwhile hard and distant. “That is what we have to consider. We have come too far to choose another candidate. We have come too far to admit that the temper tantrum of one of our number is more important than _all_ our political goals tied together.” He paused a moment, then added with sharp disdain, “Or is there someone here who will claim that Swanfair should be allowed to do as she likes, no matter what the cost to the rest of us?”  
  
A different silence answered him this time, harsh in some places, embarrassed in others. Draco inclined his head. “So. Accept me for the moment as liaison with Colben. If I disappoint you, then you can go your own ways. But we’re so close to the election now, I think it worthwhile to wait until then.”  
  
He saw nodding heads and stiff, folded arms. Well, he could never have hoped to convince all of them. He didn’t think all of them had been planning to let Swanfair lead the charge, in truth. Swanfair had a reputation for being too clever and too deceptive. They would have been stupid to trust her without reservation.  
  
But of course they would want to make it _seem_ as if they had done so, to try and extract more concessions from Draco and Colben now.  
  
Draco didn’t care. He could play the seeming game, too. As long as he carried enough of them with him to make it seem like a majority, then he could say that he spoke to Colben for the pure-bloods.  
  
It was more power and distinction than he had ever thought he would attain so young, even if his life had gone exactly as he had envisioned it and he had been the heir to an unstained Malfoy name.  
  
 _That was wonderful_ , Harry said.  
  
Draco started. He had actually forgotten his bondmates for a little while, caught up in the shifting currents of power around him and the need to predict where those currents were going to flow next. He smirked now, and told them, _You didn’t need to come out from behind the curtain and defend me after all.  
  
No_ , Severus said, his voice soft and thoughtful. Draco gave a tiny wriggle of delight that no one could see from the floor of the hall. He knew that kind of tone meant Severus was impressed, and that wasn’t a reward Draco got to claim very often. _I could anticipate what would happen next, I knew some of their desires, but I could not have commanded them in that way. Nor would they have let me. My name makes me a stranger to their world.  
  
Now you’ll have to admit that there was some value in all the manners and the family trees that my mother taught me_ , Draco said smugly.  
  
 _No one’s disputing that they’re worth something_ , Harry said in an overly-sweet tone. _But until now, I would have said they were worth a few Knuts at the most._  
  
Draco scowled and said nothing, but he was already planning an invitation to his mother to set up a party that Harry would be forced to attend. They were part of the public world now. They needed to have more parties that would show them off and make people see them as something other than “the hero and his strange Death Eater bondmates.”  
  
He was able to smile when he reached the end of that thought. Yes, he had proven that he was far more than a Death Eater.  
  
And his mother and Severus were proud of him, even if Harry was too jealous to admit that he was.  
  
 _I’m not jealous_ , Harry said. _I’m uncomfortable._  
  
And, as so often with Harry’s honesty, Draco was left uncertain and stumbling, not sure how to respond.  
  
Harry sent him a mental smile that excused him from responding. Then Colben came out to reinforce Draco’s words with carefully chosen intonations, and Draco had other things to think about.  
  
*  
  
“We must expect her to do something. Since she has already tried to enchant Colben and failed, she will not try that course again, but it might be almost anything else she is capable of.”  
  
Harry nodded along to Severus’s words, but he more occupied with the current that he could feel traveling through the back of his mind. Since he woke up this morning, Draco and Severus had been exchanging private thoughts. He’d tried to ask them what was happening, and the current had stopped. But it had started again as soon as they thought that he wasn’t paying attention.  
  
“Harry? Are you listening?”  
  
Harry started and looked up to catch Severus’s eyes, sitting up when he realized that he was getting a glare and that small flames raged up and down the bond that connected them. That irritated him enough to snap, “I am. But since you demand that I listen to the perfectly obvious things that you’re saying instead of what’s really concerning you, then maybe you’ll excuse me for wanting to think about something else of my _own_.”  
  
Severus and Draco traded a glance of the kind they used to give each other before Harry fully opened the bonds. It made Harry feel as if they could communicate dozens of emotions in a single look; it made him feel unintelligent and blundering and unsubtle. He jumped to his feet, knowing he had flushed, but not caring about that nearly as much as he did about being excluded from their minds.  
  
“Fine,” he said. “Whenever you’re done holding your little Slytherin conference and expecting me to care about other things, then I’ll be in _my_ room.” He emphasized the pronoun, so that they needn’t think he would sleep in the same bed with them tonight, and turned around to start up the stairs.  
  
Draco surged up behind Harry and wrapped his arms around his waist, stopping him. “Wait,” Draco breathed into his ear. “That isn’t—we didn’t mean this to happen, Harry. We want to help you. We want to have you with us. We just weren’t sure how you would react if we tried to confront you.” His arms tightened, and he leaned his head in the middle of Harry’s back and sighed. “That’s all.”  
  
Harry gave a dubious sniff. He could feel the bond that tied him to Draco resonating with clear bells, usually a sign that he was telling the truth, but they had already hurt him. That they hadn’t tried to do so didn’t make it much better. “Well, what did you want to say? I won’t break.”  
  
Draco spent a moment looking at Severus; Harry could tell that because of the way his hair swept against the back of Harry’s neck. Then he nodded and said, “Do you remember the blended dream we had this morning?”  
  
Harry blinked. “No?” He usually only remembered the dreams with intense images, especially the sexual ones. When he hadn’t opened his eyes to images like that dancing in his head, he had assumed they’d slept without their dreams connecting. It happened sometimes.  
  
“It was of a small Muggle place,” Severus said, his voice rumbling as if he found the words difficult to speak. The bond had become a red pinprick in Harry’s mental vision. He frowned and turned to look at Severus. Draco tightened his hold around Harry’s waist as if he thought he would struggle to get away and attack Severus. “You crouched in a corner with your arms wrapped around your head. A Muggle approached you and began to beat you with his fists.”  
  
Harry stared for a moment. Then he sighed. He knew what had happened now, and why Severus and Draco watched him with that oddly formal mingling of discomfort and protectiveness. “That never happened,” he said quietly. “It was a nightmare.”  
  
Draco’s arms tightened again, until Harry wriggled in protest because he could hardly breathe. Draco didn’t seem to notice. He leaned his head against Harry’s cheek and breathed, “You told us what a horrible childhood you had. You hardly seemed to think about it, so we were content to let it go. But if someone abused you like that, it _will_ have lasting consequences, even if you don’t think about them.”  
  
Harry shook his head impatiently. “ _That_ never happened,” he said. “The other things I told you about did—being shut in a cupboard and star—not always given enough to eat.” It seemed unnecessarily dramatic to call it starvation. “But my uncle never physically abused me. I have nightmares like that because I was terrified that he _would_ start beating me someday. The fear was so oppressive sometimes. But he never did.”  
  
“You don’t need to be afraid to tell us,” Severus said, his voice liquid and coaxing. He stood from his chair and approached Harry and Draco, holding his hand out. Harry, watching him, thought in irritation that it was like the motion someone would make to coax an abused wild animal. “We will not think less of you for it. We would have questioned you on the matter before now, as soon as you revealed the truth about your childhood, save that we allowed ourselves to be lulled to sleep by your apparent lack of scars. I should have remembered that the unconscious mind will carry scars that the body does not show.”  
  
Harry hissed between his teeth. “Listen to me,” he said. “Will you listen to me?”  
  
“We don’t want to do anything else,” Draco whispered from behind him, nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck.  
  
“He never beat me,” Harry said, in a voice that he made as loud and as clear as he could. “Never. I promise. I would have revolted against something like that, and he _knew_ it. Besides, the Dursleys hated the thought of appearing ridiculous or abnormal in front of their neighbors. They only did things they could conceal, and they couldn’t have concealed bruises or black eyes. Hunger, though, the big clothes hid that just fine,” he added with a spasm of old bitterness. No one on Privet Drive had ever _looked._  
  
“You don’t need to lie,” Draco whispered, into his ear this time. He bit lightly at the lobe of the ear, too, as though he thought Harry needed some kind of sexual reassurance. “We’ll never despise you for it.”  
  
“The only thing I despise is that you don’t believe me,” Harry snapped.  
  
“You have said remarkably little about your childhood after making that remarkable confession in front of Hogsmeade and the raiding Aurors.” Severus’s eyes were intense, and he reached out one hand to caress Harry’s chin. Harry took a deep breath and told himself that he should feel calmer than he did, with his bondmates touching him. They weren’t going to betray him. They were simply being deeply _annoying_ about everything. “That speaks to me of denial and a refusal to think about it.”  
  
“I don’t often think about it,” Harry admitted. “But that’s because I can’t do anything to change it. So why brood on it?” He’d had so many things to think about in the past two years besides the Dursleys that he didn’t see why they were important any more, especially since he wouldn’t have to live with them again.  
  
“Speak to us,” Severus said, his voice sliding lower still, until it sounded like the rumble of some great and protective tiger. “We will purge the poison.”  
  
Harry thought he could hear his enamel actively wearing away as he ground his teeth. “Look,” he said in a sudden inspiration, “if I let you look into my mind with Legilimency and tell Draco what you see there, will you accept my word for it that he didn’t physically abuse me?”  
  
Severus hesitated for some moments. Harry looked at him darkly and sent a direct thought. _If you refuse because of some nonsense about not wanting to injure me further, then I’m going to scream._  
  
“Well, we certainly would not want you to do _that_ ,” Severus said, with amusement like a thread of gold in his voice. He reached out and steadied Harry’s chin with his hand, while he lifted his wand. Harry resigned himself to discomfort. He could deal with a lot, including Severus looking at his memories; he couldn’t deal with his bondmates distrusting him or shutting him out.  
  
*  
  
Severus wove protections about himself as he began the descent into Harry’s mind. He would travel cloaked in soft, muffling cloths, so that he would not disturb the balance of Harry’s thoughts. He would do his best to avoid bringing up any other painful memories than the ones he was specifically looking for. Those, he could not help bringing up.  
  
And he thought it might be a good thing in any case, for Harry to see those memories. They could not have gone undiscovered so long, given the familiarity the bond permitted them, if Harry had not enclosed them in walls of denial so great that he didn’t realize they had happened.  
  
Severus reached the level where most of Harry’s childhood memories resided—it was a gloomy version of Hogwarts’s Great Hall—and began carefully to sort through them.  
  
Petunia’s sour voice filled the air like obscene music as Severus looked at the cupboard Harry had described, at the vision of the thin boy cooking and cleaning for his relatives, and at the way the Muggle clothes, hand-me-downs from his cousin, overlapped his wrists and ankles. The background noise changed, to calls of “Freak!” in various voices, and the thin boy bowed his head and shivered like someone walking forwards into a driving winter wind. Severus received the sense of countless hours in the dark of the cupboard, hungry and bored but not daring to speak lest something worse should happen, compressed into an instant. Hisses condemning Harry for daring to mention magic writhed around him, while Harry lay in the locked bedroom that his relatives had eventually given him and stared out the barred window or contemplated his cousin’s broken toys with a dull gaze. The music changed to cries of joy and freedom whenever he left that house and started the journey back to Hogwarts or to another magical place such as Diagon Alley, despite the danger that he knew might await him there.  
  
Severus waded through a morass of tar and spiritlessness that could have contaminated sixteen childhoods without noticing.  
  
But he found no signs of physical abuse.  
  
Oh, Harry cowered in ways that made Severus wish he had the fat Muggle in front of him. He endured threats. He got in fights with his cousin that left him with broken glasses and bruises. But nowhere was there the sort of sustained beating that his nightmare had implied.  
  
Severus took a deep breath. He should have remembered, _he_ of all people, that dreams could sometimes present realistic images that simply drew upon the mind’s experiences, rather than mirroring them. After all, he and Draco had dreamed about having sex with Harry long before it had happened, and Severus had used images of him committing delightful tortures to shield his mind from the Dark Lord’s probing. Thinking that Severus had already indulged in perversions rarer than those he could regularly offer, the Dark Lord had not often commanded him to join in the Death Eaters’ activities.  
  
He should have remembered that, and listened to Harry’s words.  
  
On the other hand, he did not think he could have been sure until he had seen for himself. So he rose to the surface of Harry’s mind again, opened his eyes, and shook his head at Draco. Draco’s eyes widened with a combination of worry and relief, and he leaned his head against Harry’s neck, sighing.  
  
Severus bent to kiss Harry. He made the kiss gentle, as apologetic as he could when he did not regret the impulse behind what he had done.  
  
When he drew back, he said, “Yes, your relatives did not physically abuse you. But the emotional and verbal abuse was constant, and the bullying that you endured at the hands of your cousin and the removal of food is not something a child should ever be subjected to.”  
  
“Much less the child who’s become the man who belongs to us,” Draco mumbled, and Severus sensed worry and indignation from him as intense as sunlight. He hated suffering when it happened to people he knew and loved, though Severus also knew that Draco could look on with indifferent eyes when it happened to others. Should the Weasleys die, for example, he would care only because of the effect on Harry.  
  
Luckily, in Severus’s estimation, Harry was too distracted by their words to think about the quality of Draco’s affection. His eyes narrowed, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I know that. But I meant what I said about not being able to change the past. Besides, you knew about this.”  
  
“We should have dealt with it at the time,” Severus told him quietly, “whatever pressing reasons there were for doing otherwise. Perhaps only your lack of trust in us at the time, as symbolized by the bonds not being open, was a good enough reason to wait. Now you trust us, and you need the succor.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth, but Draco cut in. “Don’t you understand, Harry? If the fear that can prompt those nightmares still lingers in your mind, we want to do something about it. Wouldn’t _you_ want to do something if you found us suffering horribly because of something that happened in our pasts?”  
  
Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Of course,” he said in a mumble. “But it would be different because it would be you and not me.”  
  
Draco smiled ruefully at Severus over Harry’s head. _He still thinks that it’s permissible for him to suffer in a way that isn’t permissible for us._  
  
Severus nodded back to show he understood the message, but he would not exchange a private thought with Draco. It was doing that that had first caused Harry to feel mistrustful and resentful. “You would feel more motivated to attack the problem if it was one of ours,” he said to Harry, careful to avoid all language that might imply Harry didn’t consider himself as worthy as Draco and Severus. That way only lay an argument, because Harry would insist he didn’t feel that way, and in truth, Severus was not sure how much he did.  
  
Harry nodded, his eyes squinting as though against the glare of a strong sun.  
  
“Because of the way the bonds connect us,” Severus said quietly, “our pain is your pain. And vice versa. We want to help you in part because we suffer while you do. Do you understand?”  
  
“Of course, I’m not stupid,” Harry snapped, and then sighed. “But I suspect that I’ve been acting like it, since you had to tell me this straight out,” he muttered. He leaned back into Draco and reached up to put a hand on Severus’s chin. “All right. I’ll talk about it. Though I don’t know what I can say about it that I haven’t already said. You know the details.”  
  
Severus kept to himself what he would have liked to say at that moment: that sometimes talking about something could ease the tight coils of pain in a person and make him more likely to heal. It had often been so when he spoke to Albus about his past. Without that refuge, he thought he would have gone mad long since.  
  
But Harry would probably answer that he _had_ explained, and he’d still had the nightmare. Severus stroked his hair. They were both—though Draco less than Harry—impatient because they were young, and wanted things to change to suit them immediately. Sustained effort in a single task was not so much beyond their powers as alien to them.  
  
He caught an indignant look from Draco, and had to amend his thoughts. They had sustained their pursuit of a fully open set of bonds, and Harry had struggled for years against the Dark Lord. Perhaps he should have said that a long task without some small gains along the way was alien to them.  
  
 _Thank you_ , Draco said, and then turned Harry around in his arms, apparently feeling that Severus had seen quite enough of his face. “You know that we’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked, running his hands up to Harry’s shoulders.  
  
Harry gave him a weary smile. “Yeah, I do. I even enjoy it. I reckon that I don’t like having to be taken care of.”  
  
“You’re not weak,” Draco said, and Severus added a hum of agreement from behind him. “I hope you know that.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “I do,” he said. “But I don’t like it anyway.”  
  
Draco glanced into Severus’s eyes again, this time conveying a message without any words at all, silent or spoken aloud. _Then we must do what we can to make things more pleasant for him._  
  
Severus answered with a silent message of his own, conveyed in lifted eyebrows. _That is not a hardship._  
  
Draco’s grin answered him.  
  
*  
  
Harry had had a long day; he’d spoken with several pure-bloods, including Mrs. Zabini, who seemed intent on questioning him about every detail of his relationship with Swanfair and Colben, and asking if Draco _meant_ it when he said that Harry would let Draco consider their interests. He’d had a hasty lunch at noon, interrupted by yet another pure-blood ringing the bell, and he’d hardly seen his bondmates, since most of the people who didn’t want to talk to Harry wanted to talk to them. It was seven in the evening, and he wanted nothing more than to sit down with a large plate of cheese and pickles—because that was what sounded good at the moment—and eat them in peace.  
  
Thus, when the owl came with what seemed to be yet another bulky letter filled with questions, he groaned and opened the envelope impatiently.  
  
A hissing green liquid promptly coated his hands.  
  
Harry cried out in shock, and felt the bonds shake as if they were suffering an earthquake. Severus asked without words how bad it was, and Draco didn’t bother with that. Harry could hear the stairs reverberating with his footsteps as he ran closer.  
  
Harry fell back, shaking his hands and trying to get the green liquid off him; distantly, he thought that it had been in the envelope without eating through the paper, so it probably wouldn’t eat through the furniture or floor, either. The liquid sizzled and clung like the potion that Severus had spent most of last Tuesday scraping out of the lab. Harry felt his hands swelling up, and then a simmering heat raced up his arms towards his face.  
  
He saw pustules breaking out on his skin, and managed to stop Draco just before he would have touched Harry. “No!” he said sharply. “I don’t want this spreading to you, whatever it is.”  
  
He shivered as he spoke those last words, and in the next moment he felt as if someone were trying to smother him with a warm wet blanket. He smiled grimly. The sensations were familiar from a few times that he’d suffered at the Dursleys. He had a fever. The liquid was probably a potion that caused it.  
  
“Undoubtedly the Impassioned Fever,” Severus’s voice said from above Harry’s shoulder, as cool and as welcome as a wet rag given the way he felt now. “I recognize that particular green.”  
  
Harry tilted his head back and managed to smile weakly at him, while Severus drew his wand and banished the potion from his hands. Harry knew from his intense frown that that was only to prevent the sickness from getting worse; the damage had already been done. “Do you know the antidote?” he asked, and then sneezed enormously. He whipped around, looking for Draco, and relaxed when he realized that Draco had raised a Shield Charm in front of him that shielded him from the worst effects.   
  
“There’s no antidote for the Impassioned Fever,” Draco said, his fear burning along the bond between them like a second fever and making Harry draw in a panicked breath that was abruptly hard to take. He raised one hand and grimaced when he felt the swollen lumps on either side of his throat.  
  
“Yes, there is,” Severus said. “Though not one that is widely-known. I came up with one years ago, at a time when the Ministry favored the Impassioned Fever as a weapon against the Death Eaters.” Harry wished he could touch Severus’s hand in gratitude—he knew that talking about those years was not easy for him—but as it was, he settled for sending a gentle pulse of warmth along the bond. “It will take me several days to brew.”  
  
“Several days is nothing, compared to the weeks that the potion usually takes someone out of commission for.” Draco already sounded better. Harry relaxed. He would have found his bondmates’ worry harder to bear than weeks of sickness.  
  
“No, it is not.” Severus’s hand caressed Harry’s hair and then his forehead, keeping carefully only to skin that was not touched by the snot running from his nose and mouth. “It came in an envelope?”  
  
Harry nodded, turning his eyes away. He felt guilty now for simply opening the letter without casting a spell that would have detected Dark Arts or hexes.  
  
 _Do not_ , Severus said, voice swift and sure. _A spell like that would have detected nothing out of the ordinary. The Impassioned Fever Potion is not Dark. It was originally developed as a means of allowing parents to inflict diseases on their children so that they would have a milder version of the sickness in a controlled environment, and only later used as a weapon._  
  
Draco, meanwhile, had floated the envelope into the air and was examining the name on it. He made a sound of disgust. “No signature, but the handwriting is Swanfair’s,” he said.  
  
“That explains her choice of weapon,” Severus said, his voice almost detached. Harry could feel the churning of his emotions, though, expanding into a maelstrom. “She did not wish to kill Harry, but she wished to remove him from commission for the vital weeks leading up to the election.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes. The visions of Severus and Draco were beginning to spin, and he thought the fever was probably affecting his eyes, or else causing hallucinations.  
  
“You may depend on us,” Severus’s voice said to him softly. “I will work on the antidote, and meanwhile Draco will take care of you.”  
  
Harry let go of anxiety when he heard that, despite the fact that he wondered how close Draco would be able to come to him without getting the sickness himself. He sighed, and the darkness wrapped him in soft folds of trust and dragged him under.  
  
*  
  
Draco was furious.  
  
He tried to keep the fury at bay as he did all the necessary things to take care of Harry: weaving barriers and magical gloves around his hands which would prevent him from taking the sickness; feeding him Fever Reducer and, when blood began to stream from his ears and nostrils, Blood-Replenishing Potion; answering his questions patiently when Harry woke in a daze and demanded to know odd things; giving him hot and cold baths as Severus judged necessary to adjust his temperature. It was easier when he decided that he didn’t care as much for Granger’s scruples now that Harry was sick and called in a house-elf from the Manor. Meanwhile, Severus worked steadily in the lab. When Draco saw him, he spoke with an iron self-control that Draco knew would produce results sooner rather than later.   
  
That was the only thing that let him cling to sanity. Severus _did_ have an antidote—he wouldn’t have lied and said that he did if he didn’t—and was working on it. Draco knew he would brew it properly.  
  
But in the moments when he sat alone, watching Harry struggle to breathe against the weight of liquid that was building up in his mouth and lungs, his fury got out of its cage and ran around his head, storming and snarling.  
  
He knew they had to make Swanfair pay for it. Harry would probably say that she was punished enough by seeing him walk out of the house, well, weeks before she would have thought he could. But Draco knew that, even if she was surprised, she would only shrug her shoulders and try again if she wasn’t afraid of any other consequences.  
  
Next time, what she tried might kill Harry.  
  
Draco could not let that happen. It was bad enough that Severus spent long hours working in the lab and came to bed to lie awake staring at the ceiling; it was bad enough that he could feel Harry’s struggles to breathe, his burning up and his cooling down, exactly as if the sensations were his own, thanks to the bonds. If something else happened, and Harry was to die…  
  
This was about his bondmates, and not about his own anger.  
  
Which meant his revenge had to be chosen carefully.  
  
For more than one reason, Draco thought, as he supported Harry’s head over the toilet and watched as he vomited up his latest meal. If he tried to do something too violent, Harry would disapprove, and probably get in the way of Draco’s plan. If he did something too obvious, Severus would disapprove, because a political student of his ought to be smarter than that.  
  
For all that, Draco didn’t receive the idea until the fifth day he had to tell Ledbetter there would be no training, due to Harry’s illness. The former Auror’s mouth set in a firm line.   
  
“Did the Minister have anything to do with this?” he asked, for the fifth time.  
  
Draco shook his head. He would have liked to say yes, because Ledbetter would go off and do something suicidal and heroic that wouldn’t affect them but might get rid of Shacklebolt. But Harry would hate that, so Draco told the truth. “No. A political rival of Harry’s, someone who wants him out of the way so that she can exercise power.”  
  
Ledbetter snorted through his teeth. “How I’d like to see her face when she sees him alive and well again. Preferably in a place where she doesn’t expect him to appear.”  
  
The seed fell into the fertile soil of Draco’s mind, and twined roots into his thoughts, and blossomed.   
  
He saw Ledbetter stare at him, or more precisely at his feral smile, as he went back into the house, and didn’t care. This method of revenge didn’t use Dark Arts, or murder, or anything else that an Auror had a right to be concerned about.   
  
It did, however, ensure that Swanfair wouldn’t try anything like this again for a long time.  
  
*  
  
Severus held the vial up in front of his face and examined it with a critical eye. The potion was brilliant blue, and at the moment, large bubbles were still rising from the bottom of the vial towards the cork.  
  
Then the bubbles ceased, and Severus knew that he held the antidote.  
  
He allowed himself to shut his eyes and take a breath so deep that it seemed as if he were breathing for two, drawing in all the free air that Harry had spent the past six days unable to use.  
  
He had known the recipe would be perfect, of course. In his Death Eater days, he had not been able to keep notes, because of the possibility of the Ministry discovering what he did, or even of a rival in the Dark Lord’s ranks desiring his achievements and trying to duplicate them. So he come to rely on his memory, and the experiments he had performed, the combinations of different ingredients, the failures and the successes, were still engraved on his mind like markings on stone tablets.  
  
What had weakened him and made him unsure of his success, what had caused his hands to shake and his mind to run in circles in the last few days, was the strength of his feelings for Harry, and the mere thought of the void that would open up around him and Draco if Harry died.   
  
It had taken him more than one day to remember that he and Draco might not even _survive_ Harry’s death. The emotional loss had mattered more to him than the physical one.  
  
He had raged at himself. How could he let such a fear control him? How could he suffer such a tie to constrain his actions and make him less than the fully free and independent creature he had always promised himself he would become if the miracle happened and he survived the deaths of both the Dark Lord and Albus?  
  
The answer had come like an arrow, tearing through all the fragile bodies of his delusions and spearing him in the throat.  
  
 _Because I love him._  
  
The truth was there, inconvenient, but inevitable. So Severus had brewed the antidote, and listened to Draco’s daily status reports, and brooded on his fears at night, at least before he dosed himself with Dreamless Sleep. He needed unbroken sleep to make a good antidote.  
  
Now the antidote was done.  
  
And now Severus had to set the vial on a table and put his head in his hands, shaking, because only now did he allow himself to think fully about what he might have lost.  
  
*  
  
Harry had come to think that time was meaningless. He drifted from moment to moment, and sometimes he vomited, and sometimes someone held him, and sometimes he was plunged into freezing cold or molten heat, and sometimes he shook, and sometimes he didn’t, and sometimes he slept.  
  
Now there was sweetness at his lips, and a light in his mind, as he became conscious of the bonds for the first time in—  
  
How long?  
  
A while, at least.  
  
He blinked and tried to sit up. Something sat on his chest, and he opened his eyes, intending to tell Severus off for lying on top of him when he’d clearly expressed his intention to get _out_ of bed.  
  
Then he realized the weight was merely blankets, and not Severus, and coughed in embarrassment, reaching down to remove them.  
  
“Harry!”  
  
Draco flung his arms around Harry and held him so close and so tight that Harry had no choice but to embrace him back. He closed his eyes, because wisps of blond hair were floating into them, and sighed damply into Draco’s neck.  
  
“You’re well now,” Draco whispered. “I’m so glad.”  
  
Harry abruptly tried to pull away, because he remembered the fever and he didn’t want to infect Draco, but Draco clasped his forearms, touching the phoenixes, and shook him a little. “I said that you were _well_ , you idiot. Severus brewed the antidote, and that means that you can’t hurt me.”  
  
Harry looked to the side. Severus sat in a chair next to the bed, and lifted his head so that he could meet Harry face to face when he felt his gaze.  
  
Harry shivered in shock when he saw the depth of emotion in those black eyes.  
  
“Harry.” Severus spoke simply. “Thank God.”  
  
Draco was chattering about Swanfair and how surprised she would be, but Harry couldn’t take his gaze from Severus. Severus was _letting_ him see everything on his face: the compassion, the worry, and the soul-deep relief. Harry shivered, and then put out a hand. Severus clasped it.  
  
His fears seemed like such little things in the face of this love. How could he do anything but give himself to the man who felt this way for him?  
  
 _The men_ , he decided, and stretched out his other hand to Draco. Draco caught and kissed it without, amazingly, interrupting his flow of words.  
  
“—And I implied in my last letter to Swanfair that we didn’t know what was causing the sickness and you’d probably be sick for another few months at least, so she should arrange a gathering of pure-bloods and tell them that you wouldn’t be able to support Colben—”  
  
“ _What_?” Harry said, staring at Draco now.  
  
Draco gave him a smile that was sweet in its pure evilness. “Didn’t I mention that? I’ve decided that Swanfair needs to pay in humiliation and the loss of her political power for hurting us. So we let her set up this gathering, announce that she’s the only way to get Colben elected now, even encourage her to choose a new candidate.” He leaned nearer, his eyes shining. “Then we walk into the middle of it.”  
  
Harry laughed and caught his face to draw him close for another kiss. Severus leaned in quickly from the side, as if he could not bear to be left out.  
  
Harry tasted happiness so deep from those kisses that he felt as if he were standing under a waterfall.


	32. Chapter 32

  
“We were so worried.” Hermione barely let herself breathe the words before she flung her arms around Harry and squeezed hard enough to drive all the breath out of _him_.  
  
“And Malfoy wouldn’t let us in to see you.” Ron seemed to think it was very important to add that, nodding and scowling several times even as he watched Harry with worried eyes. “He said the sickness was too contagious. Well, if it was, how come _they_ could be around you?”  
  
Hermione’s elbow crashed into Ron’s ribs. “Ron!” she hissed, looking sideways as if she wanted to estimate how great the chance was that Harry hadn’t heard. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Hermione blushed. “Don’t say things like that. They’re his bondmates, and of course they wanted to tend him. If he got sick and died, what do you think would happen to them?”  
  
“I still think he could have owled us and told us what was going on more than twice in six days.” Ron folded his arms and looked expectantly at Harry.  
  
“I’m sorry he didn’t,” Harry said, because it sounded diplomatic to say that. He motioned Hermione and Ron to sit down. They were in his bedroom, his old one, which Draco had used as his nursing room during the fever, because Harry still didn’t have much strength. “But he was so concerned about me he probably forgot.”  
  
Ron sighed, then said, “All right, mate, I’ll forgive him.” A ripple of displeasure ran up the bond between Harry and Draco, but Harry ignored it. “Now, what did you have? Malfoy said something about a potion?”  
  
From Ron’s tone, he seemed to suspect it was really Draco’s plot to poison Harry in the night. Harry decided not to dignify the suspicion with a response. “Yeah. A political enemy of mine sent me the potion in an envelope. There was nothing about it to indicate Dark Arts, but the potion poured all over my hands when I opened it and got me sick.” Harry shifted in place. What he most hated about that memory—other than his own stupidity—was the thought of what would have happened if Swanfair had addressed the envelope to Severus or Draco.  
  
“Who’s this political enemy?” Hermione’s voice was very quiet, and she was sitting straight up in her chair. Harry glanced at her. She had her hands folded on her knee. Her legs were crossed. She looked almost demure—until you stared into her eyes.  
  
Harry hesitated. Draco had objected to telling Harry’s friends his plan, insisting that they would manage to betray it somehow, especially if Swanfair talked to them alone, and they probably wouldn’t approve. But the plan had nothing violent about it, and Harry would hate for his best friends to continue trusting Swanfair and get injured because of it much more than he would hate ruining a plan for revenge.  
  
“Brynhildr Swanfair,” he said. “She wanted to control Colben by forcing her to depend just on her. So she tried to get me to withdraw from supporting Colben’s bid for election. When I didn’t, then she tried to put me out of the contest for a while by making me sick.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to look casual. He’d already had enough of people worrying about him for the past week. The worry was _nice_ , but it also made Harry feel as though he was back in the fever and covered with far more blankets than he needed.  
  
“I see,” Hermione said. “ _I_ see.” Then she leaned back in her chair and started twirling her wand around, which Harry thought was eerily similar to the way that Draco spun his wand when he was feeling angry. She had a hard smile on her lips.  
  
“Hermione?” Harry asked softly. “What are you thinking?”  
  
“That she’ll pay for this,” Hermione said, in a tone that implied _What are you, stupid_?   
  
“Draco and Severus already have something planned.” Harry reached out to grab her wrist. “And it’s nothing that’ll kill her or hurt her permanently. I promise.”  
  
“It won’t?” Hermione asked.   
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
“Pity.” Hermione patted his shoulder and leaned back while he was still gaping at her. “But I reckon I’ll have to live with it.” She twirled her wand again and paused as a bright red spark leaped out of it, fluttering just above her robes. “For right now.”  
  
Harry stared at her, then at Ron, who was looking on with a proud expression. “Did you know she was this bloodthirsty?” he demanded.  
  
“Yes,” Ron said. “You should have heard her when Shacklebolt originally said that he wouldn’t punish Huxley.” He glanced at Harry and started laughing. “What?” he asked through his chuckles. “Did you think we would be self-righteous and lecture you and them about revenge?”  
  
“Um,” Harry said, a little dazed, because that was the most neutral way he’d ever heard Ron refer to his bondmates. “Yes?”  
  
Ron shook his head. “Not when someone’s hurt you like that, mate,” he said. “I was worried about them killing her, but that’s because the Ministry would put them in prison and then you would mope. Not because we care about bloody Swanfair.” His face darkened, and one hand clenched on his knee. “I’d give a lot for five minutes alone in a room with her,” he muttered.  
  
“Don’t,” Harry said sharply. “She’s an expert in mind control. She nearly got me, but I can resist the Imperius Curse, and you—”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “I was speaking in hypotheticals,” he said. “And you’re incredibly jumpy.” He reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand, holding on tight. “Trust me,” he whispered. “Trust me like you used to. They’re not the only ones who were upset when they realized that you were sick.”  
  
Harry looked at Ron in wonder. Of course he should have anticipated that his best friends would be upset. He would be upset if someone had done to Ron or Hermione what Swanfair had done to him.  
  
But after so long getting comfortable with his bondmates and striving to trust them more, it seemed that he had forgotten how people outside the enchanted circle of the bonds would see him and react to what had happened.  
  
“Right,” Harry said, and squeezed Ron’s hand hard. “I’m sorry.” To lighten the mood, he smiled at Hermione and said, “In a few days, I should be back on my feet, but Severus wants me to do something ‘productive’ while I’m lying in bed. Any books that you can recommend?”  
  
Hermione looked at him in pity. “You’ll have to be more specific as to subject, Harry,” she said, and fetched a roll of parchment from inside her sleeve. “Books on history? Books on law? Books on curses and potions? Books on magical creatures?” She shook out the roll of parchment, and it sprawled down towards her feet, longer than any of the essays she’d written in Hogwarts. “I have all of those, and other subjects besides, but they’re not going to help unless you can indicate what you want.”  
  
“Tell me,” Harry said to Ron, “that she doesn’t carry lists of book recommendations around with her everywhere she goes just in case someone wants them.”  
  
“Yes, she does,” Ron said, looking deeply satisfied.   
  
Harry sighed and turned to Hermione. “The shortest books you have.”  
  
Hermione promptly reached into her other sleeve and produced a different roll of parchment. “You’ll still have to specify by subject,” she said.  
  
*  
  
 _Dear Madam Swanfair._  
  
It had taken Draco half an hour to write those words and have them come out calm, crisp, and even on the parchment. He stared at them now and wondered if he _should_ blot them and surround them with drops of ink. Wouldn’t Swanfair expect anger from someone whose bondmate was still sick?  
  
But no, she would suspect him more if he blotted, Draco decided slowly, because that would mean that he was wildly angry. She might anticipate revenge. Draco didn’t want her to. He wanted to sound resigned, calm, cowed by the presence of a greater power. Swanfair had “proven” that she could reach everywhere and hurt everyone she wanted. They wanted her to maintain that impression, and even build her pride up to a greater pitch, until the moment of her fall.  
  
 _I am glad to see you come to the conclusion that I had already worked out for myself,_ Severus’s voice said, clam and sardonic, in the back of his head.  
  
Draco didn’t see that that complaint was worth answering. _He_ had been the one to come up with the revenge plan, which was unmatched in its simplicity and legality. He returned to writing the letter.  
  
 _For various reasons, Harry finds himself compelled to withdraw from any meetings for the next several weeks. His sickness is growing rapidly and could be contagious for anyone who comes in contact with him. Even Severus and I have to take extreme precautions that wound us as we watch him thrashing in bed._  
  
Draco had to keep himself from adding a vicious little twist on the last words. Yes, let Swanfair imagine them in pain. It would lull her suspicions.  
  
 _We know that we have not had the best of relations with you in the near past, but you are still the most powerful pure-blood supporter Colben has, and the only one available for the touchier proponents of blood purity now that I must spend my time with Harry. We would like you to call a meeting, and inform us of the date, so that you may announce Harry’s incapacity to continue working on the campaign. If I can tear myself away from Harry for an evening, I will be there; otherwise, Severus will come._  
  
More misdirection, more planting of false ideas, in a way that would make it only Swanfair’s fault if she actually believed Draco. Let her imagine him besotted and wailing, unable to think clearly while Harry was ill. And let her imagine Severus coolly distant and unaffected. She would try to manipulate them in different ways, but those ways would miss the mixture of anger and logic that both Severus and Draco contained, and so the manipulations would fail.  
  
 _You were irrational during the week Harry was recovering_ , Severus reminded him, with a gentle touch, as if he disliked bringing these memories to Draco’s mind.  
  
 _And you were the Captain of the good ship Reason, of course_ , Draco snapped back, and bent to finish the letter.  
  
 _Thank you for what you have done for us. Notwithstanding our recent disagreement, and notwithstanding other considerations that make the words bitter to write, we must all bow to the inevitable and be thankful you were here.  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
I wonder if you have not overplayed your hand_ , Severus muttered doubtfully in his head. _She will see sarcasm in the last paragraph._  
  
Draco snorted and carefully set the letter aside, then cast a Drying Charm on the ink. He didn’t want a curve of any letter changed from this moment forward. _She’s meant to. She would be suspicious if we pretended that we didn’t know the fever potion was from her. She’ll see this as the last anguished writhing of a venomous snake who knows that he can’t actually damage anyone with his poison anymore._  
  
Severus fell into startled thinking, and Harry answered from the bedroom above where he was still engaged with Granger and the Weasel. _I could never think as subtly as you do, Draco._  
  
Draco half-closed his eyes in enjoyment. _Why, thank you_ , he said. _It’s always pleasant to hear that my bondmates admire me._  
  
Harry responded with a rush of warmth that encircled him like a whirlpool of sweets. _And thank you again for taking care of me all week._  
  
They were on good enough terms with each other now that Draco knew his next, teasing words wouldn’t be misunderstood. _I was simply trying to get you back in shape for sex. You know that, right?_  
  
Harry’s laughter and Severus’s reprimand both hit him at once.  
  
*  
  
Harry came downstairs the next morning, leaning on the railing with an expression of determination that said he wouldn’t be banished back to bed. Severus, awake with a cup of tea and the letter that Swanfair had sent in reply to Draco’s, decided not to try, but he did make Harry sit in a chair at once and fetched tea for him.  
  
“You don’t have to do that,” Harry muttered in obvious embarrassment, eyes turned towards the floor even as he accepted the cup from Severus. “I could have walked that far.”  
  
“Without spilling the tea?” Severus asked with an arch of his eyebrow, and Harry grimaced and wriggled a bit, then sighed and held the cup to his mouth with fingers that shook.  
  
“I was sick,” he told the tea in annoyance. “I wasn’t dying. But everyone acts like I was.”  
  
“It is rare,” Severus said, picking up the letter again, “and not something I wished to tell either you or Draco when you were experiencing such intense agitation. But people have died from the Impassioned Fever Potion.”  
  
Harry’s eyes darted up to him, and the bond trembled with a current of pure golden uncertainty. Severus remained still and steady-eyed, exactly as he was, and Harry looked away and gulped.  
  
“Oh,” he whispered. “I didn’t know that.”  
  
“What Swanfair did,” Severus said, “struck at the heart and core of the bond. It implied that we could not protect you. It implied that she could control us and we would have to do exactly as she wanted. It implied that she was the victor in a contest that has barely begun. Do you see why we took it so seriously?”  
  
Harry nodded, fingers sliding over the sides of his cup. Severus looked at him doubtfully, and he seemed to notice, because he coughed and sat up. “Yes,” he said loudly. “Yes, I do.” He reached across the table and squeezed Severus’s hand. “This isn’t like what happened to me after the Gut Chewing Curse,” he said. “I promise. Then, I still wasn’t used to you and it was all mixed up with the fact that you would die if I died. But now that I know you love me—”  
  
He paused, perhaps unavoidably, and Severus squeezed the fingers clutching at his. It was all the gesture he was capable of at the moment, but Harry seemed satisfied with that, at least enough to give him a sweet smile.   
  
“Now that I know you love me,” Harry said, “and now that the danger’s been explained to me, I won’t dismiss the cost you paid again.” He hesitated, then added, “Dumbledore didn’t tell me about the prophecy because he wanted to protect me, you know. He wanted to give me a childhood. He didn’t know that the Dursleys had already stolen it.” For a moment, his face creased with bitterness, reminding Severus that they needed to speak about that. Harry rushed on, having perhaps heard that thought. “I always wished he had trusted me with the truth. As long as someone does, and I know they care about me, then I can take them seriously.”  
  
“I will endeavor to remember this,” Severus said. He knew there would be times when his impulse to protect overruled his good sense, but now that he knew how much the truth mattered to Harry, at least he could make an effort. “Draco’s revenge plan has been set in motion. Swanfair has sent one letter that seems to accept his overtures, but still she dances about and acts coy. He will need to lure her closer before she will agree to anything solid.”  
  
Harry grunted. He was staring into his teacup again, and though his fingers regularly tightened on Severus’s, Severus thought that his mind was elsewhere. He sipped at his own tea and waited patiently for the explosion or the revelation.  
  
Finally, Harry looked up and said, “I want to thank you for what you did for me.”  
  
Severus blinked. “You have.” He wondered if some remnant of the fever’s memory loss lingered, or if Harry had lost track of time again.  
  
Harry shook his head. “I remember speaking the words,” he said. “But I want to do something more than that. What gift would you like? What can I do for you?” He leaned towards Severus, his face terribly open and earnest.  
  
Severus had to shut his eyes to quell the powerful impulses that rose up in him. Merlin, Harry should know better than to make that offer to someone who had been a Slytherin.  
  
 _I heard that_ , Harry snapped in his head. _And don’t you understand? I trust you. I know that you won’t ask me to do anything I can’t do. Let me know what you want. Those things you’re so afraid to tell me—what did I just get through saying about the truth? Let me know._  
  
Severus slowly opened his eyes, though for the moment he maintained a guard on the part of his mind that would have liked nothing more than to respond fully to Harry’s request. He examined Harry’s face, the lines of it and the tightness at the corners of his eyes, as though he had no bond to tell him the emotions. He wanted to match the expression and the emotions, and make sure that he would not make a mistake in speaking the truth.  
  
 _Please._  
  
Severus nodded slightly.   
  
“Until these bonds took effect,” he told Harry, speaking slowly, because he wanted the truth and nothing else, “I did not know many ways of connecting with others. Honest words were out of the question for me as a spy, and as the Head of Slytherin. I spoke only with Albus about most of what I saw and felt. I had shared memories with such people as Lucius, but they were not memories that I had created willingly.”  
  
Harry’s hand tightened on his again, but he remained still and bright-eyed, letting Severus speak.  
  
“The only way of connection I could reliably use,” Severus said, making sure that Harry heard the hesitation and the longing in his voice, “was sex. And I had absorbed certain attitudes towards it, growing up as I did in my parents’ narrow home and then in prejudiced Slytherin House.” Severus had long admitted the prejudice of those who had lured him to the Death Eaters, so that did not hurt to confess. He would have defended the values and the tactics he had learned there still, except that he knew what they had been used for. “Certain—things—while pleasurable, did not count as full sex. A remnant of those attitudes persists within me still. What you have done with and for Draco and I is beautiful. But—”  
  
“You want more,” Harry said, his voice so soft that Severus would not have been certain of the words without hearing the echo in his mind.   
  
Severus nodded.  
  
Harry studied him. The longer the moment stretched, the more Severus’s shoulders tensed. He feared he had done the wrong thing in asking, even though it was what Harry had encouraged, or begged, him to do. Did one administer a dose of Dreamless Sleep to someone who had newly awoken from a coma? No, and it was possible that Harry’s recent sickness still clouded his judgment.  
  
Harry’s forehead wrinkled in annoyance. “Don’t do that, please,” he said shortly. “I hate when someone distrusts me without reason.”  
  
Severus nodded, and waited.  
  
Harry swallowed, and then said, “You know, I wasn’t afraid of the pain. That’s not why I waited so long, or why I refused to have—that kind of sex with Cadell.” Severus held back his surge of triumph, sensing that Harry would not appreciate it. “I thought of what it would be like if someone was—inside me, and what Ginny’s face looked like when—well.” He coughed and stared at the table with his face burning. “Then I saw Draco’s face when I was inside him. It’s so _open_. I’ve survived most of my life by hiding things. Some things, the things most important to me. I adapted to you knowing my emotions only because I had to, and even then it wasn’t so bad because I could shut the bonds if I wanted to. Then we could hear each other’s thoughts and dreams, but it wasn’t every thought or every night.” He stared up at Severus from beneath his fringe. “Do you understand? We’re intimate, but it’s an intimacy I can control.”  
  
“This does not surprise me,” Severus said. “You fear to lose that control if someone were to penetrate you.” Harry flinched and gave him a look that grumbled and flashed with the undertone of _How can you just refer to it casually like that_? “You would not be able to control your expression or what you said.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry said, with a relieved smile. “That’s it. So I held back, and held back. Then I saw the way that you looked at me when I first woke up from the fever.” He squeezed Severus’s arm with his free hand, as if he wanted to make sure the muscle connected to the fingers he was holding. “And I wasn’t afraid anymore.”  
  
Severus swallowed what felt like liquid eagerness in his throat. He had not been this hungry when he and Draco first became lovers, but Draco had a courage and boldness in bed that Harry entirely lacked. His charm was the charm of someone giving himself up without hesitation, with a demand for reciprocation, in fact, the charm and the astonishing grace of someone who knew exactly what he wanted. Harry had to be courted by circumstance before he would admit that he might want to sleep with Severus more than he wanted to maintain control.  
  
He had surrendered of his own free will in the end. That made it doubly precious to Severus. He had a prize that was worth the more for being so unattainable, but he had not lost his own dignity in chasing after it.  
  
Harry’s cheeks were red again. Severus knew that he was not used to such thoughts directed at him. He had long since been used to another sort of importance in the eyes of the wizarding world, and his childhood and adolescence had not been filled with the expectation of admiring glances.  
  
 _This is what we give you in return_ , Severus told him. _We give you ourselves, the knowledge of our wants and desires, and you respond with the gift of you._  
  
Harry nodded. His eyes were large, but he stood up in the next moment and leaned across the table to kiss Severus with more tongue and more patience than he normally used. He also took shameless advantage of the bond to talk to Severus as he was kissing him.   
  
_When Swanfair is settled—which should not be very long if we follow Draco’s plan—then I will give you everything you want._  
  
Severus let his fingers curl tightly into the hair on the back of Harry’s head, as tightly as he hoped to hold him to his promise.  
  
*  
  
 _You can understand why I would be suspicious of your thanks._  
  
Draco laughed silently for himself. That single line was all Swanfair had chosen to send in response to his elaborate and fantastically sincere letter.  
  
He sat for a few moments staring into the fire and considering what he should send in return. The bonds hummed with quiet activity. Severus was in the library, comparing two potions books and trying to judge which of two ancient recipes was likely to be the more reliable. Harry was in the lab washing vials. Severus had decreed that he had to learn how to master the elementary tasks before he tried anything more strenuous with potions, and Harry had grudgingly agreed.  
  
When he stopped regarding the ingredients as if they were poisonous snakes, Draco thought, he might even do worthwhile work.  
  
He closed his eyes when he decided on his strategy to reply to Swanfair and conjured up images of his father, the way he had been used to thinking of him before the war: calm, cold, clear-eyed, rational. That was not the Lucius Draco had seen in the war with the Dark Lord—sometimes he thought that Lucius had never existed, and was only the embodiment of a child’s fantasy—but it was the Lucius he needed now.  
  
When he had the image clearly in his mind and ice water flowing through his veins, he chose a piece of parchment and began to write.  
  
 _Madam Swanfair:  
  
Perhaps you heard more sarcasm than was intended in my first letter_. (He would leave her to wonder whether he meant that she had heard more than was there or more than he had meant her to hear). _Nevertheless, certain facts are true and have to be faced. Harry is sick. He will probably not be able to participate in the election, and certainly won’t be able to participate in the events leading up to the election. Therefore, we need someone whom the pure-bloods will trust, if we don’t want to lose the election altogether. I cannot be that person without the visible symbol of my power beside me. You are still the best choice.  
  
I do not like you. I do not trust you. I do not wish to be your friend. But political realities go beyond the individual feelings of the present moment.  
  
We may be allies of a distant kind, allies who have hurt each other, but who still serve the single great struggle. We want Shacklebolt out of office because he has hurt us_. (And let her think that was the only reason, and therefore that Draco was consumed by grief and could be fooled like someone who was unstable). _To attain that goal, we are willing to put up with sacrifices. Perhaps Harry would not want us to put up with them if he was coherent. But he is not, and those who are must act.  
  
I say to you: Only announce in public what has happened. We have used rumor too much as a tool against Shacklebolt not to know what would happen if it was turned against us. Our side will straggle and become disunited if some begin to believe that I am in charge and some that you are.   
  
And tell us when you mean to make that announcement, that we might look forwards to that day for the term of our anxieties._  
  
Draco paused to admire that last line, then wrote his name and went to find an owl. The hum of contentment from his bondmates was now joined by a similar sound from him.  
  
*  
  
“Isn’t it lovely?”  
  
Harry smiled over the photographs of the house that Hermione was showing him, the house she and Ron had bought in the wizarding village where they meant to live. He wished that he could have gone with them, but there was too much chance of someone spotting him if he left the house and spoiling the scheme for revenge against Swanfair. So Harry spent a lot of his days in the library and the lab, and now he was sitting up in his old bed, examining Hermione’s pictures.  
  
Despite everything else, he was most inclined to laugh at this last bit. It was an ordinary thing in the mess of extraordinariness that was his life.  
  
“There’s the garden,” Hermione said, leaning over Harry’s shoulder so that she could point to the green plants in the photograph, though Harry could see them perfectly well. The garden was in the middle of the house, he saw, with a roof open to the air and the plants climbing the walls. He wondered if the owner of the house would really let Hermione and Ron keep all of them when they moved in. “In spring, there will be even more flowers growing than there are now.” She pushed on to the next picture and laughed a little as she looked at the plain room with worn carpet that it showed. “The drawing room needs to be redone,” she admitted. “But it was the garden that attracted us. And the _space_!” She looked at Harry with a soft smile. “I think that’s what Ron wants most of all. He’s used to growing up in a small house where he has to share everything with everyone. Here, he won’t have anything to share with anyone but me.”  
  
Harry grinned up at her. Ron was in Auror training at the moment, so it seemed safe to joke about him. “I assume there are some things you _won’t_ be sharing.”  
  
“If he touches the library and tries to sell any of the books,” Hermione began, sounding entirely serious.  
  
Harry felt a pressure against the wards suddenly, and raised a hand to stop Hermione from speaking. Severus had been trying to train him and Draco to think more about the defenses, and to feel themselves linked to them in the way that Severus had been for so long. Harry thought that Severus could hardly ask for more than for him to notice immediately when someone arrived.  
  
He didn’t think the person was hostile, or the wards would have activated already. But he was pacing wildly up and down outside the house instead of asking for permission to come in, and that meant—  
  
“Harry! It’s me!”  
  
 _It means that maybe he’s too agitated to ask for entrance like a civilized person_ , snapped Draco, whose notion of “civilized” fit with “archaic language” more and more often.   
  
Harry rolled his eyes and reached out, carefully, to drop some of the wards. He was still learning to manage the spells as well as Severus did, and for a moment they faltered. Severus flowed into the gap without so much as a hesitation, and Harry gave him a wordless thanks in a gentle kiss to the side of the face. Severus paused before he returned to his reading, and in the end let it lapse without saying anything.  
  
Ron ran through the house as though lives depended on him reaching Harry and Hermione quickly. Harry could feel the vibrations of his footsteps on the stairs and the way he brushed past the wards; he could hear Draco’s sniff in his head and the disdainful words about Weasleys and grace that Harry didn’t bother to listen to. They would only exasperate him, and he was more curious about what had happened to Ron.  
  
Ron burst through the door of Harry’s bedroom and shut it carefully behind him. Harry thought that was an odd gesture after the way he’d hurried to get here, but understood when Ron cast a locking charm. He wanted to prevent anyone from entering after him.  
  
“If you want to tell me something that you also want me to keep from my bondmates, I’m afraid that I’ll have to refuse,” Harry told him, and didn’t try to keep the edge out of his voice.  
  
Ron turned around, shaking his head. “Fine,” he said, though the flash in his eyes told Harry that he was disappointed. “They should know something about it anyway. It matters to all of us.” He took a deep breath and clenched his fists as if he wanted to hit something. Harry leaned forwards. Hermione had already gathered up the photographs into a neat pile and watched Ron expectantly.  
  
“Shacklebolt’s resigning,” Ron said.  
  
Harry felt his mouth fall open, if only because of the sudden distance between his lower jaw and his tongue. Hermione took a step forwards as though someone had dangled an expensive book in front of her. Her words danced and sparked with an urgency that Harry shared. “You’re certain about this? You didn’t just hear a rumor somewhere and you’re repeating it without thinking about the source?”  
  
Ron gave her an offended look. “Of course not,” he said. “He made a general announcement to the Aurors and the trainees five minutes ago. I reckon he thought he owed us an explanation first, since he’d been an Auror, and there were Aurors tarnished by what he did and what Dominus did.”  
  
“And he didn’t show any signs of Imperius?” Hermione said. Harry could tell she was thinking aloud. “Or Polyjuice. Imperius wouldn’t be cast in the Ministry, it would be too dangerous to use Unforgivables there—”  
  
“He looked perfectly normal,” Ron said fiercely. “I know what I saw, Hermione, and what I heard. He’s resigning because he feels that he’s done too much that’s bad for the reputation of the Ministry. He’s resigning because that’s what he feels is best for the Ministry right now.” He spread his hands and stared hard at her. “What else would you like me to do? Recite his speech from memory? You know that I can’t do that the way you could.”  
  
“Of course not,” Hermione said, and her voice had softened. She stepped around the bed to embrace Ron. Harry looked away. He might have lost his shyness about intimacy around Draco and Severus, but they were the only ones. He still didn’t feel comfortable watching his best friends act like lovers.  
  
“It’s just incredible,” Hermione went on after a moment, and Harry knew it was safe to turn back, because she wouldn’t have been able to talk with her mouth pressed to Ron’s. Yes, she was looking thoughtful now, twirling a curl of hair around her finger and standing a safe distance from Ron. “I wonder what he thinks it will accomplish. Maybe he really is sick of everything. Or maybe he thinks people will pity him and beg him to come back.”  
  
“Or maybe he’s trying to take time away from the weeks we were counting on to prepare Colben,” Harry had to say.  
  
Hermione shook her head. “That can’t be it. When a general election has been proposed and accepted by the Wizengamot, the time can’t vary. It’ll still happen at the same time no matter what happens to the current Minister.” She fell silent, nibbling her lips, her brow furrowed. Harry watched her and waited patiently. She was still the one he counted on to come up with the most and the best answers, as convenient as the way he could rely on Draco and Severus was.  
  
 _We caught your thoughts_ , Draco hissed in his head, as if to punish him for not stating them directly. _The Minister resigning?  
  
Yes, and he made a special announcement of it to the Aurors and the Auror trainees_ , said Harry, hoping to head off any attempt to accuse Ron of exaggeration or not hearing well enough.  
  
 _Shacklebolt may have regretted what he has become_ , Severus said thoughtfully. _He wished to obey the rules of the Order of the Phoenix when he was in power; I know he said as much in a first interview after the war. And then he found himself under the power of a despicable woman and unable to reconcile his principles with his fears. Perhaps he thought this was the best way to retain some dignity and some sense of the person he used to be.  
  
What he became might have been regrettable, but that doesn’t mean we should forgive him_ , said Draco, with a reptilian vengeful sound in his voice.  
  
 _I think the reason why only matters if it turns out to affect Colben’s campaign_ , Harry said. _And for the moment, the best thing we can do is handle that confrontation with Swanfair and then look towards what comes after._  
  
He received nearly identical impressions from Draco and Severus of what they wanted to happen after Swanfair was handled. Harry blushed, and smiled, and then faced Ron and Hermione again. Once more, the conversation had happened so fast that Hermione was still in her first moments of consideration about what Shacklebolt’s action might mean.  
  
“Maybe he still hopes to salvage the reputation of the Ministry, if not the Minister,” she said. “Or maybe he hopes that you’ll be more inclined to help his successor, whoever that is.” She nodded to Harry.  
  
“If it’s Colben, yes,” Harry said. “Not if it’s someone like Swanfair.”  
  
Hermione shuddered. “I would hope that he wouldn’t want that, either.”  
  
“Kingsley’s changed so much that I find it hard to understand him.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway, Hermione, weren’t you showing me pictures of your house?”  
  
Hermione stared at him incredulously. “Harry, this is the most important political news of our time, and you want to—”  
  
“I want to stop worrying about Kingsley and Swanfair and just enjoy myself with my friends for a single afternoon,” Harry said firmly. “Yes, it’s important that this happened, but we can’t deal with it right now, and God knows if we’ll ever find out why he resigned. We’ll just drive ourselves mad chasing alternate explanations, and I think that’s what he wants. Well, it’s not what _I_ want.” He patted the bed beside him. “I want you to show me pictures of your house.”  
  
Hermione sat down, her eyes big, and picked up the stack of photographs. “Well, this is the drawing room,” she said weakly. “And we don’t know where we’ll put all the furniture yet.”  
  
“What about the books?” Harry asked, because he thought that was an excellent way to distract Hermione.  
  
Sure enough, her face lit up, and she bent over the picture, tracing the glossy surface with a finger. “You can’t see it from here,” she said, “but we’re putting shelves in the drawing room. Just along one wall, of course. Well, maybe two. And the room next to the garden—there’s nothing there right now—should be a good library. Secondary library, that is. Because of course the main library is going to be upstairs, next to my study…”  
  
Harry caught Ron’s eye and smiled. Ron shook his head and grinned back, then joined in, telling Harry where the training room, modeled on the training room that Ledbetter used for Harry and Draco, would be.  
  
He was paying so much attention to his friends that Harry wasn’t entirely sure he caught it, but he _thought_ there was a gleam of approval from both Draco and Severus through his bonds, fleeting across his mind like sunlight on a stream.  
  
*  
  
At last.  
  
Draco flattened the latest letter Swanfair had sent him on the sitting room table and looked at it with quiet triumph. It had taken numerous owls of courting her, careful lines hinting his desires without ever stating them openly, giggly and plumed words that Draco would never have thought could flow from his quill, but at last Swanfair had fallen for his plan and agreed to host a gathering of pure-bloods.  
  
She was even doing it in the same hall where Draco had stood when he wanted to convince the pure-bloods that he was the new representative of the Colben alliance. Irony flooded Draco’s mouth, and he licked his lips to get rid of the thick, rich taste.  
  
 _Dearest Malfoy,  
  
Your proposals make sense. If you wish to surrender to me, you should do it gracefully. I will meet you on the evening of the sixteenth in the hall near Hogsmeade. As a token of your intentions, I shall require you to walk onto the stage and bow to me.  
  
Come at seven. I find myself craving a suitable number, and seven appears to me a sufficiently magical one.   
  
Brynhildr Swanfair._  
  
Draco closed his eyes and stood there in the perfume of his thoughts for a moment. She had tried to offend him by writing curtly, without the flowering of words that many pure-bloods would have thought appropriate to such a moment.   
  
Draco was not offended. He had expected that from her. He had expected everything, and he was standing there and enjoying himself in the consciousness of his triumph.  
  
 _You deserve it_ , Harry said in his mind, words as fervent as sunlight through a magnifying lens. _You handled her wonderfully._  
  
Draco tilted his head back in response. It was the only way he could cope with the feeling of utter pleasure running down the nape of his neck.  
  
That feeling increased a moment later when Severus poured his approval into the bond. _You have done what neither of us could have done. I am glad to be partnered with someone who has such skills._  
  
That was true, Draco realized. No matter how much of an expert he was in Potions, no matter how long he studied and thus came into possession of knowledge that Draco would never have, Severus still could not have done this.  
  
Harry sent along a murmur of agreement, as well as an acidic reminder that perhaps neither of them had had the _chance_ to acquire such skills, and an addition that he wouldn’t want them.  
  
Draco didn’t care. He closed his eyes and soaked the pleasure in.


	33. Chapter 33

  
An owl brought a letter in Shacklebolt’s handwriting to Severus on the morning of the gathering Swanfair was to hold.  
  
For long moments, Severus sat holding it, looking back and forth from it to his book. He had immersed himself in the history of belladonna for most of the morning. Various Potions masters had various things to say about its effectiveness in more than a few potions, and Severus had at last become interested enough to purchase this book, which purported to resolve those conflicts. He did not want to drag himself away.  
  
On the other hand, he was also not sure that he wanted Harry or Draco to read this letter.  
  
True, they would know the contents soon enough; Severus was not sure that it was possible for them to keep secrets effectively from one another anymore. But there was a difference between yielding the information to them when they asked or overheard his thoughts, and letting them read the words written on the paper.  
  
Shacklebolt would probably not have been able to figure out that of course Severus’s bondmates would see words he had meant to write only to Severus. Harry’s friends had quickly discovered that they shouldn’t complain to him about Severus and Draco by letter, but Severus no longer had any faith that the former Minister of Magic was as intelligent as two nineteen-year-old wizards.  
  
He slit open the envelope.  
  
 _Severus_ , was the salutation, which made Severus sigh in relief. Perhaps the letter would not be intolerable to read, as it would have been with a _Dear_ or other sign of affection before his name. Severus objected to swallowing such thick, fake treacle first thing in the morning.  
  
 _I know that you have no reason to believe anything good of me. Bu try to hear me out, please.  
  
You were absolutely right that I was jealous of you for being taken into Albus’s confidence about his death. I spent a month after you fled asking myself what had happened, how he could have been so mistaken as to your essential nature. Then I learned that he wasn’t, that he trusted you more than anyone else, and with reason. My confusion changed to resentment. I would have given so much for that trust. I thought I_ had _given much; Albus regularly trusted me with difficult tasks in the Muggle world, which most of the Order couldn’t have handled. Then I discovered that I was left outside the enchanted circle of his deepest confidence.  
  
I never thought I would have to deal with the consequences of that choice. When Harry ignored the bonds, I presumed you would wither away into obscurity._  
  
Severus curled his lip. Yes, this was a good sign of Shacklebolt’s lack of intelligence. Severus had been committed to dangerous tasks, he had been a Slytherin in school, he had been _Head_ of Slytherin, he had attained a Potions mastery. What in any of that pointed to contentment with an obscure fate?  
  
 _Then I realized that you wouldn’t, and I would have to face you over and over again. Harry claimed he would try to leave you out of public affairs, but almost immediately after that, he asked for pardons so that you could travel freely through the wizarding world. I knew what would happen then, even if he didn’t.  
  
I didn’t want anyone to know of my jealousy. But Huxley exerted pressure on me. And Harry was there, constantly being hurt, constantly needing defense, constantly requiring me to pay attention to him. Where he went, you were.  
  
It was inevitable.  
  
That doesn’t mean I am proud of what I did. I am not. But I want you to know that I didn’t lose my mind randomly, and that you’re not the innocent that you probably like to think you are. Every action you perform has an effect on someone else, even if you don’t think it will._  
  
“Yes,” Severus said aloud in his disgust, “because I should have been concerned, when Albus made me murder him, about what the effect on _you_ would be.”  
  
Harry and Draco’s emotions popped up in the back of his head like floating question marks. Severus ignored them for the moment and bent his head so that he could finish the letter. His rejection of Shacklebolt’s words and position was so strong that he knew he might not ever read the rest if he put it aside at the moment.  
  
 _I have decided that I need to leave the Ministry, so that it can have a chance to recover from the damage I’ve inflicted on it. That lesson about the consequences of your actions and how you can’t anticipate them all but are still responsible for them also applies to me.  
  
I hope that my successor isn’t Colben. I don’t think she has the experience or the resources necessary to survive past the election. Those resources would include good advisers. Harry is more intelligent than he gives himself credit for, but he’s still only a teenager who did one remarkable thing. _  
  
“And again you assume,” Severus whispered, watching the letter flutter in his breath, “that she would listen only to Harry and no one else, and that I would not offer my advice, to be delivered through Harry as necessary, if she refused to accept it directly.”  
  
Draco’s curiosity jumped up and down in the back of the bond like a child who wanted a sweet held just beyond his reach. Harry’s retreated, as if he could feel something from Severus that made him less interested in the letter.  
  
 _You were the one that prompted many of my actions, even if you never knew it, so I write this letter as a farewell, and a warning. Keep a leash on Harry if you can. He doesn’t know that lesson about consequences, and neither does Malfoy.  
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt._  
  
Severus laid the letter aside on the table, shaking his head. It was the mixture of self-defensiveness and unsolicited advice that he would have expected if anyone had told him to guess what it contained. It made him sure that Shacklebolt had resigned the Ministry as much to protect his own reputation as to try to give someone a chance in office who would do better than he had.  
  
 _I don’t understand why people write letters like that_ , Harry said abruptly. _I mean, he must have known that you wouldn’t believe him. So why bother?  
  
You have too much faith in his intelligence and perceptiveness_ , Draco answered at once. _Yes, he probably suspected that Severus wouldn’t believe him, but he let his hope smother that. He couldn’t resist the chance to give one last lecture._  
  
Harry sent an impression of shaking his head so that the bond rippled and danced, but didn’t otherwise respond. Draco withdrew, so Severus curled his lip at the letter and set aside all thoughts of it the same way he had done with the physical parchment, returning to his ruminations on belladonna.  
  
Draco came down into the library a short time later and “casually” picked up the letter so that he could read it in another room. Severus let him. There was, after all, nothing hurtful in there, nothing that touched chords of privacy in his soul, and so nothing that he would not have wished Draco to see.  
  
*  
  
Harry was nervous about what would happen when they confronted Swanfair—they’d tried to anticipate her so far, and she’d still managed to get through their defenses—but he had to admit that Draco’s energy was infectious.  
  
Draco was brilliant: radiating golden joy down the bond, his facial features shining with smugness, his eyes like ice that had attained warmth without melting. He touched Harry and Severus constantly, small fluttering touches on their shoulders and backs and cheeks that startled and aroused Harry. He winked, he laughed, he told outrageous stories that he broke off halfway through to check the time, and altogether he made Harry wonder what would have happened if he’d ever offered encouragement to Draco in Hogwarts.  
  
 _The same thing you said to me once_ , Draco responded when he caught the edge of that thought. _It wouldn’t have worked, because we wouldn’t have Severus._  
  
Harry turned to study Severus, who stood near the fireplace, a book open in his hands and a frown on his face. Even awaiting their departure, he studied. But there was one difference to mark this out as a special day: he wore a robe of black silk, with emerald-green snakes cavorting up the sides.  
  
 _You will give me a fine conceit if you carry on looking at me that way_ , Severus said, his expression and the direction of his gaze never changing.  
  
 _You deserve a fine conceit_ , Harry responded. _Especially because you’re handsome, and because you belong to me._  
  
Severus shifted, looking up then, and Harry shivered in delight as he realized the claim of ownership was entirely mutual.  
  
Draco turned around and smiled tolerantly at them, as if he was indulging the pranks of children. Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, but it was difficult. Only the fact that Draco belonged to them both as firmly as they belonged to each other kept him from looking silly.  
  
 _Nothing can make me look silly at the moment_. Draco spread his hands to appeal to some invisible admiring audience.  
  
“Just make sure that you don’t approach Swanfair with exultation in your face,” Severus said, shutting his book and setting it on a shelf with obvious reluctance. “Remember what aspect we are supposed to be presenting.”  
  
Draco scowled at Severus, perhaps for urging caution, perhaps because he didn’t want him to speak aloud when they had been communicating mentally, and then smiled and spun towards the front door. “I am incapable of maintaining a bad mood right now,” he said with a sharp sigh. “Come with me.”  
  
Harry followed, with Severus in tow. Harry could remember a time when he would have felt uneasy with Severus at his back, and expected a knife or a wand pushed into his shoulder blade, or at least a poisonous potion forced down his throat.  
  
Now he felt nothing but wonder to be between his two lovers—wonder that he could ever have thought anything else right.  
  
Severus growled in his mind. _Stop having such thoughts_ , he demanded. _Or you will force me to kiss you here, and perhaps forget about waiting until Swanfair has been handled._  
  
Harry turned back to look at him, keeping a solemn expression on his face. Severus narrowed his eyes. Of course, he could feel through the bond that Harry was planning something, but he didn’t know what it was.  
  
Breathless at his own daring, Harry ran a tongue around his lips and gave Severus a slow wink.  
  
Severus’s eyes darkened to the point that Harry thought he would keep his promise. He was certainly moving forwards, one hand extended as if he would grip Harry’s shoulder and spin him back around, when Draco interrupted.  
  
“You flirt like children,” he said. He was standing in the doorway, his eyes merciless, a faint cruel smile lingering around his mouth. “Have you forgotten what we’re here to do, who we’re going to confront?”  
  
Harry winced. He couldn’t help but wonder if Draco felt left out. Harry and Severus _had_ been flirting lately, playing coy games that they could both tolerate in the wake of a honest declaration. Draco hadn’t received as much concerted attention from either of them.  
  
 _Are you kidding_? Draco raised a supercilious eyebrow and turned to face Harry for a moment. His smile had become warm again, and once again his eyes resembled ice in their sparkle, rather than their coldness. _I know that you both admire me for the plan that I came up with to destroy Swanfair’s confidence. I would rather have that kind of admiration than the childish kind I could arouse with flirtatious gestures._  
  
Harry snorted, reassured, and felt Severus’s hand on his shoulder. He turned around, prepared to pay the price for his teasing.  
  
Even when that price was a kiss that left him trembling and needing support to walk out the door, he still thought it was a good exchange.  
  
*  
  
 _Tonight is my night._  
  
Draco had never felt like he _owned_ a piece of time before. He had seen other people believe in it and act like it, though. Bellatrix, when she tortured someone for the Dark Lord. She knew that she could linger over the pain as long as she needed to, shaping false-tender words with lips near the prisoner’s ear, long nails stroking a pale cheek. And the Dark Lord had thought he owned the moment when Harry had destroyed him, when he had aimed his wand at a kneeling Draco and Severus.  
  
But this time was Draco’s.  
  
He could feel the last bits of his old self sloughing as they approached the hall where the pure-bloods awaited them. He was no longer the cowardly little boy whom the Dark Lord had controlled with threats to his parents. He was not his parents’ child. He was not the shadow of a more powerful and brilliant person, whether that person was his father or Harry.  
  
He was himself.  
  
And for the first time, Draco had the impression that himself might be a person that he would like and appreciate.   
  
He felt the ground as soft as air beneath his feet when he opened the door and walked into the hall. Severus came behind him, and behind _him_ was Harry with his Invisibility Cloak. They had chosen that as more reliable than any of the glamours they might have used, and easier to end on time than Polyjuice Potion. They couldn’t know when the moment to reveal Harry might arrive, not exactly.  
  
Draco was, however, confident that they could seize it when it did.  
  
It was really extraordinary how he felt, he mused as they moved on, to the private room at the back of the hall that Swanfair had agreed they could use, supposedly because Draco and Severus were too sensitive to bear the stare of too many eyes. Confidence slithered through him and sharpened his mind and clarified his perceptions. He _knew_ that he could handle whatever happened, not because he was arrogant but simply because he knew that he could. It was a fact, like the way his eyes could perceive light.  
  
And then he realized what the difference was. His realization ran like golden trickles of sunlight up the bonds, and his bondmates responded with gentle questions that would have sounded insipid spoken aloud.  
  
 _I feel like an extraordinary person for the first time_ , he told them. _I’m not measuring myself against anyone, because Swanfair doesn’t count. She’s so clearly going to lose. I’m complete in myself. I don’t need to cheat, or worry about my marks, or fear that someone outside me is going to cast me down into the dirt again. I’m fully and simply myself._  
  
Harry caressed his hair through the bond. Severus rubbed the back of his neck. Draco listened to his moment singing.  
  
*  
  
Swanfair had no idea.  
  
Severus could not glance into her eyes from this distance to be certain of that, but it was visible in her behavior, in the way that she stood on the stage before the crowd of pure-bloods exhorting them, in the too-wide gestures of her arms, in the loud laughter that bubbled out of her throat when she had to answer some importunate question. If she expected any kind of check or contradiction, she would have been more cautious, more chastened, aware that something could happen at any moment to change the situation and she should be calmer now lest she looked the more foolish afterwards.  
  
But she had no trace of that awareness.  
  
Severus smiled thinly. It suited him that the woman who had done her best to kill his bondmate should climb a mountain. The fall would hurt her the more when they pushed her off it.  
  
 _Or when Draco pushes her off it_ , he thought, his gaze going sideways so that he could focus on Draco. Draco stood halfway between him and Harry, arms folded and head cocked as he listened to Swanfair, an absolutely relaxed expression on his face. He wasn’t smiling, but if he had been Severus’s enemy, Severus would still have been reluctant to go up against him. Someone who looked like that most often had better weapons in reserve than smiles would have been.  
  
More and more, Severus was becoming conscious that he loved his bondmates in different ways. (He could speak those words in the most private part of his mind, the one walled around with Occlumency, where he knew that neither of them would catch the outer edge of his thoughts). Draco was the one whom Severus admired more, because he could see the qualities that made Draco what he was more easily and trace the way he used logic and cunning to solve a problem. Harry’s logic was usually opaque. Draco was the more open.  
  
 _How Granger and Weasley, and Harry himself, would laugh if they heard that!_  
  
But it was the truth. Harry might betray his emotions, but until recently, Severus had not understood what caused those emotions. He understood Draco at a more fundamental level. He had only to say something in a certain way, turn his head in a certain direction, or look at Severus with a cocked eyebrow, and Severus knew what set of values or causes or passions he was being invited to share. He knew them from their beginning to their ending, because Draco’s mind was so very like his own.  
  
He could flow with Draco in perfect confluence. It had not taken them long to master the new bond between them, not only because they both wanted to do so, but because they both worked on the problem in the same way.  
  
Draco was a comrade, a colleague, in a way that Harry could never be. With him, Severus could have the kind of intellectual discussions that took place between Potions masters and other experts on the same subject. Severus was close to him without effort, and many times that was exactly what he wished for.  
  
With Harry, he had to strive far more. Their experiences might be similar, but trusting to that and treading across that surface without care was like expecting to walk confidently on a frozen pond. The dark water beneath the ice bubbled and churned with the alien impulses and contrary lessons that they had taken from those experiences.  
  
Harry called forth the part of Severus that enjoyed puzzles and intellectual games, that dealt with difficult potions, that had sometimes exulted—in a most perverse way—in the challenges that spying had set him. Severus would approach him with care, tentative, half-confident, and Harry would give him a puzzled look and explain that that wasn’t what he meant at _all._   
  
Harry controlled himself more than most people realized. There was a giant preserve of emotions in him that he had no intention of opening to the public. He kept his most precious smiles and his most valuable laughter for a charmed circle of a few intimates that he seemed to have chosen randomly.  
  
To be admitted to that charmed circle, and now to know that Harry wanted to give up some of his control in order to sleep with him…  
  
It made Severus hard thinking about it, and it gave him the patience to endure past the moments when it seemed that he had made his best effort and still didn’t understand Harry, and never would.  
  
Severus was not concerned about those different kinds of love. Harry and Draco were different people. They were equal in his regard, but not identical. Why should he love them in exactly the same way?  
  
He would be astonished if they did not love him in a different way than they loved each other, for that matter.  
  
His life was not the way he had envisioned it during the rare moments when he let himself think about surviving his masters, but he would not have changed it.  
  
And now Swanfair had finished speaking, and turned to gesture at the curtain to the side of the stage, no doubt thinking Draco would walk out and give her a grudging bow like a crown to be placed on her head. Draco surged forwards, his steps as light and perfect as if he were treading a tightrope to the confrontation.  
  
Behind him came Harry.  
  
And then Severus, who nonetheless took a moment to revel in what was happening between them before he followed.  
  
*  
  
Because this was his night and he was alive to every alteration in it, Draco knew the edge of the moment he was standing on.  
  
There was the moment when the pure-bloods in the crowd, some of them resentful, some relieved, but all interested, awaited his entrance and his bow to Swanfair. Draco was sure she had prepared them for the gesture even though she had not mentioned it by name. They charged the air with their expectations, and those expectations had the power to twist reality into conformation. Draco knew that.  
  
And _this_ was the moment, the shining slice of time, when Draco took that pliable reality and shaped it the way _he_ intended it to be shaped, by doing something as simple as bowing deeply to Swanfair, nearly folding himself in half. There were a few anxious titters from the audience, as they wondered why he had turned a gesture of submission into one of mockery when he was the one who had agreed to bow in the first place.  
  
He kept his eyes on Swanfair’s face, as she looked over his dipping back and saw Harry advancing behind him, free of the Invisibility Cloak now.  
  
And _this_ was the moment when her plans collapsed like ice in summer, and there was shock in her face that poisoned the triumph, and the hand she had raised as if to bestow a blessing on him fell limp and useless to her side.  
  
Draco found it hard to breathe through the sweetness.  
  
The next moment, the audience was yelling, was clapping, was cheering, was laughing, and the moment which Swanfair might have seized and turned back into her own channels was gone forever. Even if she tried to speak now and make some gracious announcement about how she had suspected this all along and was determined to allow Draco his little joke, no one could have heard her. Everyone would remember the look on her face better than they would remember any words that she might speak, anyway.  
  
Draco rose and stepped back so that he was standing next to Harry, slinging his arm around his bondmate’s shoulders. Harry had told Draco that he wanted to speak to Swanfair, just to hammer home the point for those pure-bloods who might be slow to follow him or who would think this was a glamour or Polyjuice. Some people probably _would_ think that it was glamours or Polyjuice, as Draco was aware, but Harry needed this as much as Draco had needed the initial moment of revenge to soothe his rage and grief, so he allowed it.  
  
Severus stepped up behind them and held his wand unobtrusively between their bodies. If Swanfair decided that revenge tasted better than the restricted role in pure-blood politics they intended to leave her, he would be ready.  
  
“Too bad for you,” Harry said calmly, “that we expected something like the Impassioned Fever Potion to come from your hands. We had the antidote already waiting.” More excited speculation from the audience, but not enough to overwhelm Harry’s voice. What he said was a lie, of course, but Draco was well-aware of how powerful lies could be at this moment. “You intended me to miss the election. You should have realized that we would have anticipated a tactic so _obvious_.”  
  
And then he looked at Swanfair and shook his head like a sorrowful mentor who had seen his best student fail a practical exam.  
  
Draco wanted to laugh. He hadn’t told Harry to add that headshake, but it was perfect, the kind of thing that would also stamp itself in the minds of his audience.  
  
Swanfair, very pale about the lips, bowed back to them. Draco approved. Under the circumstances, it was the best thing she could do, courteous and not requiring them to duel her or destroy her—and weak. Everyone who mattered and could think about things in the right way would see her bow as only an echo of Draco’s earlier, unforgettable one.  
  
“So be it,” Swanfair said. “I acknowledge myself beaten.”  
  
Again, it was the only thing she could reasonably do, but her allies and dependents would not so soon forget a confession of weakness.  
  
Swanfair turned to face her audience and bowed to them, too. Draco wondered for a moment whether that would help her to regain some footing with them, but then decided that it wouldn’t. Even if she meant it sincerely, there were simply too many who would see it as an attempt to curry favor, or realize that there was no way Swanfair was that humble.  
  
They had one more surprise, but Draco was content to let it wait for its proper time. Swanfair made a pretty little speech about being mistaken, and didn’t say anything about what she had made the mistake about. Then she turned to Draco with a jerky motion like an automaton and held her hand out. Draco took it and bowed low over it. He hoped that she could feel the mocking smile that he pressed against her skin in a kiss.  
  
Swanfair then turned towards the far side of the stage, after the briefest of nods to Harry and Severus. Draco suspected, from the twitch at the corners of her mouth, that she was about to break down and didn’t want them to see it.  
  
Someone cleared her throat.  
  
Swanfair froze, staring straight ahead. Of course, that made sure she couldn’t see the person who stepped out from behind Draco, but maybe that was the idea. Maybe she’d simply had enough of humiliation for one day.  
  
“I am disappointed by some of the revelations made today,” Colben said in a solemn tone as she stepped around Draco and into the middle of the stage. “I had thought that my allies were truer to me, and to the political cause that they professed to serve, than this. But I find now that they can act against one another without caring about how that might affect my chances for election.” She gave a delicate sigh. “At least I learned this before I came into office and had to consider rewards for faithful service.”  
  
Swanfair turned her head back without turning her body. “You knew what I was from the first,” she said, speaking to Colben as intensely as if they were the only two people on the stage. “You accepted my help _knowing_ what I wanted.”  
  
“Power,” Colben agreed. “But this is not power. Your machinations have only landed you more distant from it, not near it.”  
  
Draco knew that implied that Swanfair had had more control over things than she really did. But it was a frame of mind that the pure-bloods watching breathlessly in the audience would share. Swanfair had taken a risk, thrown her dice and gambled with stakes that she did not yet have. She had to be prepared to accept the consequences of any risk, especially since everyone would have said how brilliant she was if her plan had worked.  
  
She was responsible—or irresponsible, as the majority of the public inclined to think that way in the first place would see it.  
  
Swanfair made another bow, to Colben this time. Her jerkiness and the abrupt way she raised her head to stare gave her away. Her mask of perfect control was cracking. “Can you blame me for having tried?” she asked.  
  
“When it caused potential damage to me?” Colben raised her eyebrows. “Yes.”  
  
Swanfair stood straighter, then, and swept her hair back into a tight tail that she began to tie with a wandless spell. Draco understood what came next from the severe lines on her face. She would go away to nurse her humiliation, and in the meantime make sure that no one else could profit from that humiliation.  
  
If Draco had entertained hopes of coaxing her back to work with Colben and Harry, he would have been disappointed. Because this was exactly what he had hoped would happen, he smiled, and let her see him smiling.  
  
Swanfair looked blankly at him for a moment, then faced Colben. “I was incautious in the political arena,” she said. “You are right to chastise me. I am right to leave. I will go home, and mediate on my great deeds in the past, and consider whether the world has room for someone like me anymore.”  
  
She turned and marched off the stage with great dignity.  
  
 _In the end_ , Draco thought, stepping back towards Harry and Severus so he could feel physical as well as emotional warmth from them, _this is worth no more as a gesture than Shacklebolt’s resignation. She’s doing it to oblige herself and not anyone else. Our only failure is if we believe her._  
  
From the way Colben waved a vague hand at the departing Swanfair and then turned to face the crowd, Draco didn’t think they needed to worry about that.  
  
 _You did this_ , Harry breathed into his mind. _I’m so proud of you._  
  
Severus’s approval was lower, without words, but there.  
  
And because his moment was past, Draco let himself bask in the praise as he had earlier basked in the excitement. No emotion that intense could last forever, and he was glad he had experienced it once without being destroyed by it.  
  
*  
  
“What you did was magnificent,” Colben said, her hand firmly clasping Harry’s as she stared into his eyes. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t, often, and Harry had no doubt that she meant every word of her approval anyway. “I do not expect Swanfair to be a trouble to me as she has been in the past.”  
  
“Thank Draco,” Harry felt he had to say, because, after all, he wasn’t the one who had come up with the plan to make Swanfair irrelevant. “He coaxed her into setting up a situation where she would be exposed and stripped of her power.”  
  
Colben turned her head. Draco straightened from talking with Severus and gave her a brief bow. His eyes were challenging, but Harry knew, from the bond between them, that that didn’t come from hostility to Colben; he simply didn’t understand her very well, and was wary of either impressing or disappointing her.  
  
“He understands more about politics than I had thought he could, with that last name,” murmured Colben.   
  
“He learned in more than one school,” Harry said, drawing out the words until she looked at him again, and then tilted his head at Severus. Severus looked both pleased and embarrassed, scowling as if he had no wish to receive the tribute that Harry knew he desired. That was understandable, considering how many people had pretended to sympathize with him only to turn on him in the end. But Harry didn’t intend to let him treat the present like the past, no matter how much he would have liked to.  
  
Besides, Harry trusted Severus to let him know if he went too far. He couldn’t believe he’d once thought those dark eyes and that rugged face unreadable.  
  
“I see,” Colben said. Her voice had cooled and deepened, and Harry had the impression that he had left with something to think about. She bowed to him, said, “I shall have to reconsider some of the appointments that I intended to make in my new administration,” and then turned and went to deal with the pure-bloods that wanted to throng around her.  
  
Harry couldn’t hide back his grin as he went over to his bondmates and leaned against both of them at the same time, forcing them to support him. “How would you like to be advisers to the new Minister?” he asked.  
  
“Nonsense,” Severus said, his voice repressive in that way that meant he was actually trying to conceal his interest. “There is no reason to think that Colben will become Minister at this point, let alone that she would wish to appoint us to high positions.” His voice quivered with hope, however, and gave him away.  
  
“If you really thought that was true, you wouldn’t support her,” Harry answered peacefully. “I know that you’ve vowed not to support a losing cause again.” Severus tensed briefly, as he often did when Harry hinted at mentioning his Death Eater days, but Harry increased the strength of his hold around Severus’s shoulders, and he relaxed again.  
  
“She is not Minister _yet_ ,” Severus said. “It would be as well not to count on gifts that may never materialize, because they are dependent on her good will rather than the will of the people.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes and said nothing, because he was sure he had made his point, and Severus and Draco would not thank him for continually trying to make it.   
  
“Do we want to stay here and let the pure-bloods talk to us?” Draco asked, in a neutral voice. His bond was smooth and neutral as ice at the moment, too, as if his desires to stay and go were equally balanced.  
  
Harry opened his eyes. He wanted the pure-bloods to have a chance to know—if they could hint it delicately enough, of course—that Draco was the one who had come up with the plan to humiliate Swanfair, so that they would give him all the proper credit.   
  
He didn’t expect the way that Severus’s hand tightened possessively on the back of his neck and Severus murmured, “There was something else that was promised to us—to _me_ —when Swanfair was defeated. I believe it is time now for that promise to be fulfilled.”  
  
Harry felt dizzy with how fast he grew hard, and from the light that he could see invade Draco’s eyes. He _did_ manage, by concentrating, to shut his eyes and murmur, “I’d like that.”  
  
*  
  
The world for Severus was nothing but joy.


	34. Chapter 34

  
Severus was astonished to find both Harry and Draco pressed against him when they had completed their Apparition into the garden. He would have thought that Draco, more reserved as he had always been, would have balked at kissing in front of their neighbors. And Harry, with his shyness around the public, had his own reasons for preferring the privacy of their home.  
  
But nevertheless, two mouths pressed and scraped against his, fighting for place. Then Draco stepped neatly aside and let Harry have it. Harry made a soft surprised noise and reached up to twine one hand in Severus’s hair, as if he assumed that he would have to struggle for balance if he was to kiss him alone.  
  
Severus gave Draco a deep pulse through the bond to convey his thanks, and tangled his hands in Harry’s hair in return. It rustled and scraped against his fingers, and he remembered wondering what it would feel like.  
  
He had known that for so long now that his former questions seemed odd. Harry’s hair felt like Harry’s hair.  
  
He pressed his tongue into Harry’s mouth, knocked Harry’s tongue aside, and asserted his right to kiss him the way he liked. Harry moaned and began to scratch and scrape at Severus’s scalp with his nails. Severus shuddered and pinned him against the nearest wall. This would be easier if he had the assurance they weren’t about to immediately fall over.  
  
Harry grumbled and pushed back with his tongue. Amused, Severus let it into his mouth and twined his tongue underneath it. The taste flowed down his throat differently when he touched it that way. Harry’s shudders and desperate gasps, however, seemed no different.  
  
“I wish I could drown you the way you drown me,” Harry whispered, pulling back from the kiss once. His cheeks were flushed so dark it looked as if he had a tan on his face alone. Severus pulled on his hair and watched his eyes cross against the impulse to close.  
  
“I cannot promise to lean back and let you do what you will with me,” Severus murmured. “However, your giving yourself to me will result in pleasure at least as great as you are experiencing right now. I can promise you that, Harry.”  
  
Harry stared at him with an open mouth and a dangling tongue, as if he didn’t know what to do with it when he wasn’t kissing Severus. The thought pleased Severus immensely. Then Harry slung an arm around Severus’s neck and leaned against him.  
  
“If that’s the case,” he said, “what are we waiting for?”  
  
*  
  
Draco watched in deep contentment as Severus laid Harry down on the bed and then hovered above him, eyes anxious and watchful. Harry shoved himself up on his elbows and grinned at Severus.  
  
“I’m not going to break because I suffer a few hard blows,” he said, “contrary to popular opinion. I promise, Severus.”  
  
Severus gave him a hungry look, not moving. Draco watched the smile drop from Harry’s face. He reached up and put a hand over Severus’s cheekbone, as if he liked the sharp edge of it. Severus’s face was less haggard than it had been a year ago, Draco thought, but it would still never be called full or round.  
  
“I’ll let you know if I’m in pain,” Harry said, “if I need to stop, if you’re hurting me. You don’t need to distrust me, Severus, or fear for me.” He paused, head tilted. Draco couldn’t feel what traveled along the bond between them, but he could feel a mixture of subdued lust and concern from Severus. Harry probably felt the same things, because his brow furrowed and he shook his head.  
  
“I _promise_ ,” he said.  
  
Those seemed to be the last words necessary to reassure Severus. He lunged forwards and captured Harry’s mouth beneath his, pinning Harry flat to the sheets. Harry grabbed his shoulder with one hand and flung out the other, towards Draco, across the bed. Draco accepted the invitation that it represented and clasped it.  
  
He knew that he would have little part in this scene. This lovemaking between Harry and Severus had been too long in coming. They needed to concentrate on each other. Harry needed to learn the unique pleasure that came from having someone else inside him. Severus needed to see that someone besides Draco could be his lover and care about him.   
  
Draco didn’t care. He had had his shining moment, and he knew the praises of his bondmates had been sincere. He no longer thought that attention paid to Harry deprived him of something.   
  
Besides, he had the bonds, and with them, he could never be alone. He felt Harry’s eagerness and caution and Severus’s lust as easily as if they originated from his own blood.  
  
Harry squeezed Draco’s hand and pulled him close. Draco went, crawling on his knees across the bed. He glanced sideways to Severus, but Severus, who was biting at Harry’s throat, causing Harry to close his eyes and give soft panting cries, gave no sign that he had noticed him.  
  
So Draco drew his wand and quietly enlarged the bed, then Summoned the lubricant from the nearest drawer. He knew that, once Severus began, he would not want to be stopped by such small and unimportant things such as the temptation to fall off the side of the furniture.  
  
He lay back and brought his face as close to Harry’s as he could, so that he could watch the lovely, dazed way his eyes fluttered, and the way his mouth opened in a cry that seemed to come from the depths of his being when Severus bit down on his collarbone.  
  
And that was nothing compared to what happened when Severus began to undress him.  
  
*  
  
Severus peeled the robes away from Harry with less care than he wanted to use. He would have liked to go slowly. He would have liked to show Harry that he was worshipped, cherished, coddled. He would have liked to erase the memory of the treatment that Harry had endured from Muggles and wizards alike with gentle movements of his hands.  
  
But his desire overpowered him, and his joy, at the thought that Harry was finally, _finally_ ready and had been the one to make the decision to proceed this far, urged him to go faster. Harry was naked almost before he realized it, save for his pants. Severus reached for them.  
  
Harry stopped him with a hand on his elbow. His smile was coy, almost intolerably so. He had kiss-swollen lips and eyelids that might as well have been swollen, drooping as they were above eyes that looked larger than usual. “Let me do this,” he whispered.  
  
Severus could have been stone for all the power that he had to move after that. Harry knew that, too, from the way his smile widened. But as he rose to his knees and began to strip his pants off his hips, Severus found he did not mind. That was the first time in his life. People mocking him or humiliating him was a trigger he could not erase, connected to too many memories.  
  
But Harry only wanted Severus to watch him as he pulled the pants down slowly, revealing inch after inch of bare, flushed, sweaty skin, and then his bobbing cock. Severus had seen it all before. Still, he followed every scrape of the young man’s thumbs, every languid motion of his hips, every twitch of his balls, as though he was watching some unique and newborn work of art.  
  
Harry lifted his head, his nostrils quivering. Severus caught a glimpse of Draco behind him, watching with brightening eyes and tilted head.  
  
 _He has never been admired in that way before_ , Severus thought. _Or at least not in a way that would let him think the motive behind the admiration was honest. Draco knows it as well as I do._  
  
So Severus gave him more of that admiration. He bent towards Harry and let the scent of his skin drift into his nose, and let his eyes widen so that Harry would see every flash and flicker of his dilated pupils.  
  
Harry shuddered like a nervous horse and leaned forwards so that he could flick his tongue against the skin of Severus’s left palm.  
  
Severus’s patience broke again.  
  
Draco scrambled out of the way just in time as Severus pinned Harry to the bed and lay down over him so that their erections came as close together as possible when Severus was still wearing clothes. Harry shuddered, a yearning motion that had carefully concealed fear in it if any fear at all, and stretched up so that he could whisper into Severus’s ear. “Are you ever going to take those robes off?”  
  
“I will take them off now,” Severus said, and he moved all in one smooth sweep back from Harry, who gasped at the sudden wash of cool air over skin that had been heated and shifted as if he wanted to sit up. “Provided that you lie still and _do not move_. If you do, then I will leave this room.”  
  
Harry froze, quivering. He could tell through the bonds that Severus did not truly mean it, but Severus thought he would be unwilling to risk it happening. He nodded quickly, once, and then settled back on the bed. “How do you want me?” he whispered, letting his hands sprawl above his head. “Like this?”  
  
“That will do,” Severus said, with difficulty, because the gesture echoed several fantasies he had had about Harry in that position, _bound_ in that position. “Now. Hold still.”  
  
Harry nodded wildly, his eyes fixed on Severus’s body.  
  
Severus took off his robes with delicate precision, rather than slowness. He did not think that slowness would affect Harry at this point; he had already had more than enough of that. But watching the way that Severus never missed a button and folded his clothes neatly without looking at them, never taking his eyes from Harry, made him twitch. When Severus pulled his trousers down with the same unconcern that he would have used corking a Calming Draught, Harry gave a tiny cry and pushed his cock towards Severus as if he imagined that was the way to get his want satisfied.  
  
“Hold. Still.” Severus snarled the words, and saw the way that Harry turned and stared at him. The bond trembled with wariness, dividing and opening up unsuspected wings like a butterfly, and Severus wondered for a moment if he had gone too far and Harry was reconsidering his trust in him.  
  
Then Harry swallowed and said in a shaky voice, “It’s only because I want you so much.”  
  
“I know that,” Severus said as he undid his pants, “but that is no reason for undignified behavior.”  
  
Harry’s laugh was desperate. “If you don’t get over here soon, then you’ll see some behavior so undignified you’ll never forget it.”  
  
Severus was not a cruel man to his bondmates. This was the edge of desire he had been looking for. Harry had never surrendered to lust so completely before, had never seemed to forget about the fact that he was actually having sex in his longing to have it. Now he was a pile of nerves and limbs and aching.  
  
Severus went to him.  
  
*  
  
Draco rolled back to the edge of the enlarged bed as Severus grasped Harry and started to search for a pillow with his free hand. Amusingly, neither of them seemed to have noticed the bed’s increased size yet.  
  
Draco moved forwards after a moment of watching Severus grope and flail about. He knew that Severus wanted the pillow to prop up Harry’s arse and keep it there while he entered Harry for the first time, but Draco had a better solution.  
  
He drew Harry’s head into his lap and bent down to kiss his brow where the scar had been, eyes on Severus’s face.  
  
For a moment, Severus stared at him, as if he had no idea who Draco was or why he was forcing himself into such an intimate situation. Draco felt a flash of pain, but no sooner had it shuddered through him than Severus reached out and laid the part of his left forearm marked with the phoenix against Draco’s cheek. As always, the skin was warmer than it should have been, and the touch calmed Draco.  
  
“Thank you,” Severus said, words deep with meaning that Draco could not have explained given fifty years to do it in.  
  
He nodded, heart and throat full, and then looked down to meet Harry’s wondering eyes. Harry smiled up at him. The phoenixes entwined along his arms, partial though they were, glowed with a light like that of conjoined suns.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered in turn.  
  
Draco caressed his hair, and then nodded at the tube that lay on the edge of the bed. “I brought you the oil,” he said.  
  
“You _do_ think of everything.” Severus’s hand swept through Draco’s hair in response, and he picked up the tube and spread shimmering lubricant on his fingers. His eyes had gone back to Harry, and Draco saw a feeling in them that he had never seen. The bond was overspread with it, too, a shimmering rainbow that darted and faded and came together and shattered again like the colors that formed when a spray of water from the _Aguamenti_ Charm traveled across a beam of sunlight.  
  
Draco could not resent it. As he had told Harry, if it was impossible to imagine them becoming lovers without Severus, it was impossible to imagine himself and Severus now without Harry. He was the object of Severus’s desire at the moment, and the object of Draco’s desire at others. He was the one who had decided to overcome his objections and fears in order to give Draco a precious birthday gift. He was the one who made peace between them when they were both contentious, whipping each other up into storms because their souls were too alike. He was their Gryffindor, their impulsive one, their Harry.  
  
Their phoenix.  
  
Draco kept his intense, greedy, loving eyes on Harry’s face as Severus slid a finger inside him for the first time. He would not want to miss the expressions that were about to cross that face for the world, remembering his own first time.  
  
*  
  
Harry stiffened when he felt the finger creeping into him. It was covered with oil, and Severus was gentle, sliding it back and forth until Harry relaxed a bit before he continued the even slower slide forwards.  
  
But it was the thought and not the sensation that occupied Harry’s mind most at the moment. He was actually letting someone _inside his body._  
  
It wasn’t the same thing as being inside someone else’s body, although he would have said that both Ginny and Draco were generous in ways that he didn’t deserve when they let him have sex with them. That was heat and tightness, but Harry had been able to get used to that and watch his partner’s face. As he had told Severus, it was a controllable pleasure.  
  
He could tell already that this wasn’t going to be controllable, simply because it was like nothing he had experienced before and he had no idea how to respond to it.  
  
A high, nervous whine escaped his throat. Severus’s finger stopped moving, and Harry gulped and looked up. He would hate to see disappointment or anger on Severus’s face, when Harry had made such a dramatic pronouncement of his readiness for this kind of sex.  
  
There was amusement and understanding in Severus’s eyes, and the bond between them turned sea-blue, so that Harry for a moment, in the haze of his relief, actually seemed to look at Severus through seawater. Severus’s finger worked forwards again, stroking slowly and smoothly, loosening the constricted clench of muscle. Harry swallowed audibly and spread his legs.  
  
“You are well?” Severus asked, his voice soft and heavy with meaning. “You do not need more time to recover from this?”  
  
“Recover from _what_?” Harry asked, flinging all the challenge he could into his voice. “You haven’t done anything to me yet.”  
  
Severus bent for another kiss, his face intent. That intensity didn’t forewarn Harry of the way that a second finger joined the first, though it really should have. He gritted his teeth and tilted his head back, breathing noisily through his nose.  
  
“It’s all right,” Draco whispered, his hand coming down again and stroking Harry’s forehead in a hypnotic rhythm.  
  
“I know that,” Harry said, but gasped at the end of the words. Severus’s fingers had sunk in deeper than he had known was possible for fingers to go. He thought about how much deeper his cock would go and shuddered with anxiety—  
  
And anticipation.  
  
Yes, that was the bloody emotion curling through him now, anticipation so keen that it made his back teeth hurt. He wanted Severus’s cock inside him, more now that he knew what a few fingers were like than he had ever wanted it before. That made no sense, because of course a cock was thicker than fingers and would feel stranger and would hurt more.  
  
But it was the way that Harry felt. He licked his lips and shifted his head in Draco’s lap, wondering if that would distract attention from the way his cock was dripping small, clear drops on his belly.  
  
“It is all right to anticipate what I will do to you,” Severus whispered to him, as the fingers moved apart from each other, stretching and twisting. Harry shuddered again. It was strange to think of a place that had always been so closed-off within his body straining open to the air. It was even stranger to think of why this was happening. “I would be disappointed if you thought it would be exactly like any other experience you have had.”  
  
“I want it,” Harry whispered. He twisted his hips at Severus, who responded with a maddening smile and another curling of his fingers.   
  
“And I will say when you can have it.”  
  
So he made Harry wait for more agonizing minutes—agonizing in mind and not in body, because either the care he used or the oil Draco had chosen deadened most of the pain—as Harry’s body adjusted and craved more, and as Draco stroked his hair and whispered, and as Severus watched him with a sphinx-like expression. Harry wriggled and panted, and nothing he did convinced Severus to hurry up. He looked as if he would be content to wait until the end of the world.  
  
Only the bond argued otherwise. The heartbeats of lust darkened the blue that Harry had started seeing through to red, and the red became almost the shade of Severus’s swollen cock. Harry looked down at it whenever he started to lose his faith that Severus really wanted him. It was the only thing that made him sure that this teasing had to come to an end sometime.  
  
It didn’t come to an end before Harry started feeling empty, which made him flush. Yes, all right, he was about to have something inside his body, but he didn’t know that he could actually start _craving_ it. He hadn’t known that Severus’s fingers would start seeming as if they weren’t enough, and that he would _need_ Severus’s cock, instead of simply wanting it.  
  
That was something people could feel, maybe, but it wasn’t a feeling Harry associated with himself. He wanted to close his eyes and die of embarrassment.  
  
“I enjoy that you are feeling this,” Severus whispered to him, because of course he had picked up all the thoughts through the bond the moment that Harry started having them.  
  
What else could he do after that but keep his eyes up and stare up at Severus, whose eyes glittered and revealed more of himself than they ever had before? Harry knew that he wouldn’t be betrayed now. Vulnerability answered vulnerability. They could trust each other because they had the power to hurt each other.   
  
Harry didn’t think, now, that he could ever have found this contentment or this level of security with anyone else.  
  
It became like a dance, the intricate tangle of all their movements: Severus’s fingers penetrating him; Draco’s hands touching his hair and head and occasionally dipping down beneath Harry’s neck and between his own knees to touch his own cock; Harry’s breathing and the involuntary spreading of his legs. It went on until Harry became almost content to let it be _the_ experience of the evening and let it take the place of anything else that could have happened.  
  
Then Severus raised the material of the bed beneath his arse with a word and said, “I want you.”  
  
“And I want you,” Harry answered, because he had the impression that Severus was waiting for him to say something. He raised his arse, his face flushing all over again. He didn’t know he had that much blood left in his body.  
  
“Truly,” Severus whispered, “you have nothing except pleasure to fear.”  
  
He lifted Harry’s legs over his shoulders.  
  
Harry shivered. Then he stiffened in spite of himself when Severus began to slide inside his body. This was the experience he had feared most, because Severus was aiming at his prostate and he had no escape from it, no way that he could flee into his head the way he used to at the Dursleys.  
  
 _But why should you want to_? Draco whispered to him, stroking his skin and stroking and stroking and stroking. _This is only pleasure, or will be._  
  
Harry gasped. Severus had rocked forwards into him while he was trying to think of a way to answer Draco’s thought—he had the feeling that he would have to use different words than he had used to explain his fear to Severus—and now Severus’s cock was more or less fully within Harry. Harry had no angle to look down and judge distances from.  
  
He tensed. There was someone with him, within him, so close that he couldn’t be fled from—  
  
And then Harry looked up and realized, as if for the first time, that it was Severus.  
  
And he no longer wished to escape.  
  
*  
  
Tightness and heat.  
  
That was to be expected, but what Severus hadn’t expected was how the sensation of tightness and heat would translate from the physical end of the encounter to the mental and emotional one.  
  
He felt enclosed by the bond between him and Harry, so filled was it with fluttering emotions like the fluttering muscles around him, the shining red and pink emotions of Harry’s lust and fear and anger at himself like the colors of flesh. Severus let his head drop forwards, nearly overwhelmed. The pleasure was sharp and doubly sweet—no, triply, because one side of it was the sensation that he was receiving from Harry. The rest of it came from penetrating Harry’s body and penetrating Harry’s mind.  
  
He was welcome here. He was not the intruder he had been when they practiced Occlumency in Harry’s schooldays. Nor yet was he peering into Harry’s mind to confirm some disastrous theory about physical abuse.  
  
He was inside Harry.  
  
It was more overwhelming than the beat of his heart.  
  
He looked up, and found Harry’s face melted and softened. That, as much as the fact that he could literally no longer keep still, encouraged Severus to snap his hips forwards.   
  
Harry tensed, and let his mouth fall open dumbly.   
  
And then he spread his arms out, drooping over Draco’s knees, and tilted his head back until the firelight shone on his throat, and whispered in rapture, “ _More_.”  
  
Severus had known that moment would come, and still it went straight to his heart like a gift. He was moving faster and thrusting harder before he had rationally considered whether he wanted to fulfill Harry’s request. After all, Harry had never been through this before. He might think he knew what he wanted, but he might also not _really_ know—  
  
The force of Harry’s stare, and the half-contempt in it, destroyed Severus’s rationalizations. He nodded and settled into the rhythm of his body rather than trying to fight it, never taking his eyes from Harry. He still caught glimpses of Draco, of his swaying hair and his brilliant smile, but Draco seemed content to cradle Harry and ride Severus’s thrusts as though he were part of both their bodies.  
  
The pleasure was spinning through Severus, extending out arms of wind and rain, ravaging him like a storm. Harry’s pleasure, his choked and hushed gasps, surrounded him, and Severus vibrated to their chords. He heard his skin slapping Harry’s, somewhere down at the bottom of the well, and the creaking of the bed, and the way that Harry lifted and lowered himself, pushing back as best he could, his face a study in wonder.  
  
But no single sound could dominate him. The moment he heard one, it was replaced by another. And the same thing happened with sights, and smells, which had never happened when he had to use his nose in separating Potions ingredients. Severus closed his eyes at last, to try and gain some control over the spinning that had invaded him.   
  
_I don’t get to have any control left_ , Harry whispered down the bond into his mind. _Why should you get to?_  
  
He squeezed down with his inner muscles, and Severus cried out in distress and triumph both at once as he came. He hadn’t felt his orgasm building up, or he hadn’t managed to separate it from everything else, but now it was _there_ , spraying through him, spraying out of him, white and gold and black somersaulting in front of his eyes. He had never felt so good, especially because Harry’s enjoyment was all around him at the same time.  
  
He caught himself with his arms before he could fall forwards, and heard Draco gasping and stuttering. He was coming without a touch, Severus thought as he forced his eyes open, or maybe from the way that Harry’s hair and head had continually rubbed against his erection as Severus pushed into him.  
  
He was in time to see Harry coming untouched, as well.  
  
Harry’s eyes screwed shut. His head fell back; his orgasm had deprived him of strength in his neck, Severus found himself thinking. He wailed, but the wail got cut off halfway through and degenerated into a sob. His belly was soaked as his cock spasmed, and Severus reached down and traced the vein along the shaft with a finger so that he could coax Harry along. Harry shook more urgently.  
  
When it was done, Severus bent down and kissed him. Draco joined the kiss, his mouth sucking and greedy. Harry lay still, eyes shut, recovering, until one of his hands crept up and cupped around the back of Severus’s neck, tilting his head so that Harry could whisper into his ear without moving.  
  
“I already want you inside me again,” Harry breathed.  
  
Harry’s words were enough for Severus to decide that this latest encounter had been a success.  
  
*  
  
Harry could not believe how calm he felt. Yes, this was a tense moment, and everyone around him was muttering and checking watches and making up excuses to whisper to each other. But the tension remained outside him. He was confident that he could live with whoever became Minister.  
  
Shacklebolt was gone. The Muggleborns who had followed Huxley had tried to put their own candidate forwards, but withdrawn her a few weeks later. Harry knew that the pure-blood candidates, even if they earned enough votes to become Minister, would receive bitter opposition from Muggleborns and wouldn’t be able to exercise the power of a despot in the way that Kingsley had tried to do.  
  
“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione whispered in his ear. “You’ve been staring off into space and smiling for several minutes now.”  
  
Harry turned to smile at her. He could see her well, since they were on the field near Hogsmeade, the one where Harry had held several of his meetings to court the pure-bloods and get to know them. It was a beautiful day, two days before his birthday, the sun glowing through a haze that had dropped a little rain this morning but was already melting. The people around them added too much heat to the proceedings, but that was why Harry had made sure to cast a Cooling Charm before they left the house. He and Draco were doing more practical things like that for their personal comfort now, since Severus had insisted that they do so and taught them the spells.  
  
Harry reached out at the thought of them, and found the bonds glowing with the same untroubled contentment that he was experiencing. Draco’s was tinted with blue amusement as he watched the crowd shifting as if they all had to use the loo. Severus’s bond was white with analytical intelligence; if danger would erupt when they made the announcement, he was concerned to know the best escape routes and how to collect his bondmates before they could get injured or trampled.  
  
“I’m fine,” he answered Hermione. “Just thinking that I want Colben to win, but that it’s not the end of the world if she doesn’t.”  
  
Hermione gave him a sharp glance. “Even though we’ve spent so much time and money trying to make sure that she gets elected?”  
  
“We spent time,” Harry corrected her. “We let other people spend the money.”  
  
Hermione stared at the ground, and Harry knew that she was trying to conceal her smile. When she looked up, she said, “I’ve been doing some more research on accidental magical bonds. I was wondering why the bond had manifested as a phoenix for you and Snape and Malfoy. I mean, it’s not as though either of you had a pet phoenix like Dumbledore or was a phoenix Animagus.”  
  
Harry cast a curious glance at her. “Well, what did you find?”  
  
“You told me that when you created the bond, you were thinking that Dumbledore would want you to save Snape and Malfoy, right?” Hermione asked. Harry nodded, though from this distance it seemed impossible that he would have thought they were only worth saving for that reason. “Well, Dumbledore’s symbol was the phoenix. For you, I mean, not necessarily because that’s the symbol he was known by in the wizarding world. You were probably thinking about that, and the accidental bond came about because you wished for it, and it seized that symbol of Dumbledore because you were doing it for him, in a weird way. Plus, it was a good replacement for the Dark Marks, which was something that the bond needed to create, or Voldemort would have gone on drawing strength from them.”  
  
Harry nodded slowly. He supposed that made more sense than the only theory that he’d been able to come up with: that the bond was a source of renewal and healing for all of them, and so it only made _sense_ that the symbol of it would be a phoenix.  
  
On the other hand, he thought he liked his theory better.  
  
 _Are you all right_? Draco asked from a distance, probably because he’d felt Harry’s confusion and conflict over Hermione’s theory. He caressed the back of Harry’s mind, the bond between them turning light green with his concern.  
  
And Harry smiled.  
  
Because the “real explanation” for the bond between them mattered less (except perhaps to Hermione) than what the bond meant to them and what they _wanted_ to think about it. So he could go on thinking of the phoenix as a symbol of rebirth, and he could go on loving Draco and Severus without thinking that the origins of the bond—hasty, an accident—somehow diminished what had come from it.  
  
Severus overheard the thought and rumbled in the back of his head. _I entirely agree. What we have is more precious than what other people might try to name what we have._  
  
Harry closed his eyes and stood still for a moment, because sometimes he could not believe that he was blessed to have his bondmates with him like this.   
  
Draco laughed softly, and Harry, opening his eyes and turning around, realized that he made his way through the crowd to Harry’s side. He wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist, nodded to Hermione, and whispered so gently that Harry knew she could not hear them, “Believe it.”  
  
Severus stepped up to them from the other side, crowding Hermione away. Harry didn’t know if that was deliberate, and so he settled for giving Severus a half-hearted glare. Severus took no notice. He simply wrapped _his_ arm around Harry’s shoulders and lowered his head so that his nose slid into Harry’s hair. Harry could hear him drawing in a deep, grateful breath.  
  
Harry wrapped his arms around their waists in turn and stood there, his mind and heart trembling with happiness. He sensed Hermione’s quiet smile and the way that she removed herself from the scene, but he could not even look up and meet her eyes to thank her.  
  
The announcement a few minutes later, that Estella Colben had won the most votes and was the Minister of Magic for Great Britain, hardly increased his pleasure or his sense of blessing or his deep, quiet delight.  
  
Draco had said something to him the other day about how Harry had been a phoenix for him and Severus, their rebirth for their hearts and their chances in the world. But Harry, when he thought of the way that they had taught him what love was, what lovemaking was, that people he had once hated could become special to him, and what the future would be like, had fought against that definition. It was too exclusive to him.  
  
“We’re all each other’s phoenixes,” he muttered now.  
  
The grip of the arms around him grew tighter. The crowd was madly celebrating or walking away in dejection, laughing or groaning in accordance with their private convictions, but Harry and Draco and Severus stood in the midst of their private, triple-sided happiness and were silent.  
  
Harry did sense one thought, which slid through his mind so smoothly, glittering so brightly, that it might have been Draco’s or Severus’s—or his own.  
  
 _What we have won is nothing compared to what we shall win in the future._  
  
And when Harry thought of the possibilities open to them, he had to agree.  
  
 **End**


End file.
